Minding the Fort
by ichthyosaurus
Summary: While Stoick is off visiting another tribe, Hiccup is charged with keeping Berk in one piece.
1. Bon Voyage

_Whoosh._

"Try again," Gobber prompted.

Hiccup sighed and heaved the axe over his shoulder, then lobbed it with an effort at the target painted on a particularly thick tree. It sailed right by. He winced and Gobber wrangled his own cringe into what he likely hoped passed for an encouraging expression. Hiccup went and retrieved the axe a fourth time.

Bad enough that Hiccup was failing miserably at weapons training, Astrid was there to watch. Fortunately she and Gobber made for an audience of only two. Small blessings.

"Try using your left hand," she called.

Gobber glanced around nervously, an odd thing for a man who was intimidating-looking even for a Viking. "What makes you say that?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I've seen Hiccup write. There's nothing wrong with being left-handed, that's just a superstition."

Spoken to a man who firmly believed trolls had it in for his left socks. Giving Gobber an apologetic smile, Hiccup hefted the axe again with his left hand. This time the blade made a satisfying thud as it lodged firmly into the trunk—of the next tree over.

Well, it was an improvement.

Astrid couldn't hide a smirk. "Better."

Unfortunately, it was. Hiccup shrugged and smiled, then tugged the axe from the oak trunk.

Gobber still appeared uneasy. His apprehension of sinistral dexterity was one shared by a lamentable number of other Vikings, who still tended to think all devils and miscellaneous mischief-minded spirits were left-handed. Hiccup had always avoided using his left hand in public, whether to write or draw or wave a knife around, conscious of the prevailing attitude. But Astrid had a point: better to handle an axe awkwardly with the left hand than horrifically with the right. Actually anything involving a blade probably lent itself to that rule.

A fresh interest in his weapons training was one of the many outcomes of his village's newfound respect. Hiccup's schedule was now packed with lessons on leadership designed to get him up to speed; he was playing catchup for all the years in which chiefly training for the Haddock boy was largely regarded as an exercise in futility.

"Maybe you should try a sword," Astrid suggested.

Gobber's face reflected the serious misgivings that Hiccup was sure were plain on his own.

"Reflex is important. If you can pilot a dragon through a maze of rock columns, you can navigate the point of a sword," she insisted, hopping from her perch on a large boulder.

"My footwork might be a little beyond help," he told her. She rolled her eyes.

At least she didn't get wildly uncomfortable whenever he joked about his leg (or lack thereof), like everyone else in the village did—save for Snoutlout and the twins, who just liked a good joke at anybody's expense, even their own. Hiccup had once excused himself from a circle dance by claiming he had worse than two left feet: he didn't have any. His fellow Vikings' mortification was painful. Under Stoick's red beard, his face was green.

Astrid fell in step as they walked back to the village proper. "You're doing fine," was the unprompted response to his thoughtful frown. "Nobody expects you to get it right away. Grima loved your resolution for her pasture dispute."

"And when I accidentally complimented her mustache?"

Astrid suppressed a grin. "Well, you were right. Her winter coat _was_ coming in nicely."

Hiccup grimaced.

Lumbering up behind them, Gobber slapped Hiccup on the back. "You'll get the hang of it. Axe-tossing and all." He then launched into one of his elaborate stories, this one of a pirate war he'd experienced as a younger man with a few more limbs to his name.

Berk was truly a town transformed. Even if you removed all the dragons from the landscape, the accommodations that were made for them—roosts for the Nadders, domed hovels for Monstrous Nightmares, little birdhouse-like structures the Terrible Terrors nested in—created a remarkable change.

A commotion was stirring at the docks as they approached. The activity was typical of readying for a voyage, loading of barrels and the like. Vikings passed bearing heavy loads. Hiccup saw a few tapestries being packed away carefully. Even some dragons had been conscripted to carry burdens, though they went about it gladly. About six Terrible Terrors with ropes gripped in their claws zoomed by hauling a crate, jabbering away at each other.

Sometimes it still felt unreal when he saw dragons and Vikings interacting so casually, and he'd _instigated_ the whole thing. Berk had surprised him with its capacity for adapting to radical circumstances. Once the two sides were reasonably certain the other wouldn't try anything slick, they'd gotten along famously. Vikings and dragons were a lot alike. Hiccup didn't want to strike a flint around either after a heavy meal.

"What's happening?" he asked a hulking fellow who was muscling one crate to sit atop another. It was his father who answered, coming up behind and towering over them.

"We're calling on the neighbors," said Stoick, casting an appraising eye over the preparations. "Been too long since we attended to inter-tribal matters. We're joining Furyk for a conference."

Hiccup knew full well what those conferences involved. Usually arm-wrestling played a part. Would he be expected to go?

As if reading his mind, Stoick took Hiccup aside. Only Astrid and Gobber stood close enough to overhear. A few Vikings hid curious stares, sneaking looks over their shoulders as they continued to load the ships.

Stoick was, as ever, to the point. "You won't be coming with me," he said.

Hiccup did not know whether to be relieved or disappointed. Did his father still harbor doubts about his son's competency? After all, it had only been a few months since he was the village liability. It made sense. Conferences between tribes were a stage for making strong, manly impressions and Stoick's oddball kid—

"You're in charge."

—whose biceps couldn't crack a steel band would inspire all the morale of a limp handshake. He could understand. It wasn't like training dragons had made him muscly or any taller. Better to show off promising youths like Snotlout and Astrid. Why had all the blood drained from Gobber's face?

Wait. "What?"

Stoick tapped Hiccup's shoulder. "While I'm gone, you're the chief."

"Oh." Chief. Of Berk. Vikings and dragons and all that. So it wasn't a lack of faith, but rather an inordinate amount of it. He felt strangely relieved. "Does anyone else know that?"

"You'll let them know," Stoick said firmly, "by taking command." Some detail on the docks caught his eye and he went off bellowing, after giving Hiccup a hearty slap on the back. Affection amongst his people was often manifested through violence.

Chief? 'Someday' had arrived early.

Hiccup turned back to Astrid and Gobber, and raised his shoulders helplessly. Astrid seemed pleased. Having recovered from his initial shock, Gobber was now oddly emotional.

"You're crying." Hiccup squinted. "Those are tears."

"No I'm not. My allergies are acting up. It's just," the blacksmith surreptitiously wiped an eye, "I'm so proud. I always thought this day would come."

"Are you happy or terrified?"

Astrid blew away her bangs. "Oh, you'll be fine. You've got us."

That, he did.

Hours later the packing was done and three longboats were ready to depart, stuffed to the sails with gifts for the hosting tribe: tapestries, pottery, some weapons. Gobber's ability in the smithy was renowned outside of their own town, and their neighbors always tried to barter for blades.

Hiccup stood by the docks, feeling obligated to see them off. Bidding them farewell in person did feel nicer than looking down on them from the cliff side. The departing villagers began boarding the ships after bone-crushing handshakes and friendly jostling for Hiccup, with some jokes spattered here and there from warriors—men and women—instructing him on keeping their better halves out of trouble.

"Snagrod is allergic to pewter," one woman reminded him. "It gives him an awful rash."

He promised to try and keep Snagrod away from pewter, and if he couldn't he intended to stay away from Snagrod.

The dragons seemed a little forlorn at being left behind, but both Hiccup and Stoick were of the firm mind that their alliance was to remain a secret for a little longer. Not every village had a Red Death to provoke an about-face on the subject of cooperation with longtime enemies. A plan was needed to eventually reconcile them to the idea, though it might be easier as they didn't have quite as violent a history with dragons as Berk had.

Hiccup patted a Gronkle looking on morosely as his human jumped aboard after a fond goodbye. Dragons had turned the people of Berk into homebodies—initially through the constant threat of attack and the necessity of keeping close to home, and then by the keen bond that had developed between them.

Toothless came up to stare curiously. Absentmindedly, Hiccup reached over to scratch behind the plates on his head. A low pleased rumble started deep in the dragon's throat.

At last Stoick came up. "Everything's in top condition," he told his son. "The weather should hold, nobody's got an outstanding bloodfeud at the moment. You couldn't ask for easier conditions to ah, test your wings so to speak."

"It helps that the only dragon fires now are accidental."

They didn't speak for a moment. By now the preparations were finished and the ones set to leave were milling around, waiting for their chief. Haddock men were not renowned for their verbosity. Stoick usually bulled through tricky conversations and Hiccup preferred to dodge them altogether.

"Well, ah—have a good trip," Hiccup said a little lamely.

Stoick cleared his throat. He seemed to have difficulty talking. "I'm proud of you."

Was his voice breaking? It was. Hiccup couldn't believe it. First Gobber, now his dad. Next _Astrid_ would break down in emotion.

His father clasped his arm, then patted Toothless on the head and boarded.

* * *

><p>Stoick watched Berk dwindle until it became shrouded in mist. It was the first time in a long memory that he had allowed his gaze to linger behind him when he departed, to see the thatched roofs become enveloped by fog one by one. The chief believed in squaring his shoulders to what lay ahead, and so he had always stood at the bow and looked forward. Today, his back was to the wind.<p>

Contrary to what Hiccup himself might think, Stoick had no reservations about appointing him as the interim boss. When the boy was such a nightmare to shepherd, the only sensible thing to do was to make everyone else the sheep. If nothing else about Hiccup was derived from his community, he was utterly protective and positively stubborn, undeniably Viking traits that were important assets in a leader when it came to the best interests of his village. Plus, exposing him to others' madness would temper his own.

So Stoick hoped. He still had the feeling Hiccup was holding out on him.

He surprised himself by chuckling.

* * *

><p>"So what's your first act, Chief?" Astrid asked as they watched the sails disappear one by one into the mists. Hiccup had always wondered which it was that disappeared, the ships or the land they left behind?<p>

"Dinner. I'm starving."

* * *

><p>Uh huh, one of those Hiccup in charge stories. The sword thing was referenced from the books, which I did a bit of research on but have not read. This will range from humorous to generic adventure. Reviews are appreciated!<p> 


	2. Tell It to Frigga

Adventures in Berksitting

**Chapter Two: Tell It to Frigga**

On the third day of Hiccup's tenure as chief the morning dawned bright and clear. Hiccup had already been awake for an hour, fussing with the plans for the proposed nesting enclosure further up the mountain. Now that the hostilities between Berk and the dragons had crumbled, the two camps had become fiercely attached to each other and hunkering down together in a single community was the natural progression of their affection. Fine and good, but it had to be approached practically, and keeping nests in Berk was not practical.

Dragons did not reproduce more often than humans, but one might expect to lay two or three eggs at a time. One dragon egg would require a lot of attention; handling several would be disaster control. When stressing this point at a council meeting, Hiccup compared it to managing the equivalent of the Thorston twins at each nesting. This had been sufficient to impress upon them the gravity of the situation and the proposal to look for a suitable place had passed unanimously.

Hiccup tapped on a counter with his charcoal. Should he convert the former dragon training ring into the nest? While a practical measure, too much blood had spilled on the dirt there. Then again, with the chains making a domed spiderweb, what better construction was there for hatchlings first trying out their wings?

He might just let the dragons decide. If they took to it, then that was that. If not he'd find someplace else.

Toothless was snoozing on the floor in a patch of light coming through the window. Hiccup went over to scratch him.

It had been an easy two days. Everybody was on their best behavior, as though determined to make this first trial go as smoothly as possible for Hiccup. He was grateful to them for it. Even the twins had restrained themselves, and were eager to help.

Yes, this chief thing was okay. He could do this. Why, Berk was almost idyllic right now. The sun was shining, some birds were chirping, strangled yelps were drawing nearer, he could smell flowers blooming closeby.

Wait. Strangled yelps?

"Hiccup! _Hiccup!_"

He knew that voice.

Hiccup opened his door with trepidation, and ended up at eye-level with a ham-sized fist about to knock. It retreated before it could tattoo his forehead. Bright blue eyes glared furiously out of a face that looked as though it had once cracked stone as Stoick's head did.

"Hi, Birgit."

She was not inclined to formalities just then. "You," she said, jabbing a finger at him so as to dispense any doubt that she could possibly be referring to anybody else, "are coming with me."

Birgit grabbed his shoulder and fairly dragged him alongside. Hiccup just managed to close the door behind him after gesturing for an alarmed Toothless to stay put. He wasn't in danger. Probably. Birgit was a full head taller than Hiccup; indeed, she stood higher than most other men. She also led the women's circle, the formidable coalition that held the traditionally male-dominated council in check. Hiccup had been warned often to avoid crossing the group and Birgit in particular.

And he'd thought everything was going so well.

Ahead he could see a small gaggle forming in what passed for the village square. A blonde head turned and he saw Astrid was already there, flanked by a smirking Ruffnut. Astrid raised her eyebrows in warning, while the other girl could scarcely contain her mirth.

Hiccup had an awful feeling about this.

Before Astrid could take him aside and explain the situation, Birgit muscled him through the group and steered him to a halt in front of two people around whom the circle was clustered. Hiccup recognized Knut, a boy who had entered dragon training several years ahead of him, and Halfrid, his longtime paramour.

Hiccup studied them warily. "What's this about?"

Birgit fixed the two with a stare. "You're going to marry them," she announced.

For the love of Thor he couldn't tell if she was joking.

"Um, wouldn't I be a third wheel?" He laughed weakly.

A few titters ran through the crowd. Astrid buried her face in her hands. When he saw Birgit's stormy expression he regretted saying anything, and turned back to the couple. Knut looked abashed, Halfrid defiant.

"Not like it matters what I think, but could somebody explain what's going on?"

Everyone seemed content to let Birgit do the talking. "If these two are going to sneak off into the forest every day," said Birgit as she glowered at them, "they can go about it married."

"Ah." Hiccup's face began to burn. "Wow."

Ruffnut was close to losing it at his discomfort. Both of her fists were shoved impossibly in her mouth, and her shoulders were shaking.

Knut began to protest. "But we didn't—" Chilly stares effectively snapped his mouth shut.

Say something, anything. He'd eaten some bad onions. He had dragon pox. Sorry, but he'd be in bed all day with the covers over his head. "It's Wednesday." Typically, marriages were conducted on Fridays and it might give everyone a chance to cool over the next forty-eight hours.

This did little to stymie Birgit. "All days honor the gods," she declared. "So any day is as good as another."

"I can't do that. For one, I'm not the chief," Hiccup pointed out. "Nothing I could do would be legally binding. And second, Grima performs the marriages." Was this conversation actually happening?

"Grima's on her sojourn at the shrine," spoke up a darkheaded woman to his right. "Who knows when she'll be back?"

Birgit dismissed his argument with a wave of her hand. "Of course it's legal. 'In the absence of the chief, authority falls to the regent, and he acts in the chief's name.'"

"You're quoting something. What are you quoting?"

"I'm quoting tradition!" She stuck her finger into his chest. "Stop stalling."

He frowned at her. "I don't know what to say."

Birgit placed her hands on her hips. "Nobody invited you here for your opinion. This is women's circle business and the matter is decided."

"No, I mean I don't know what to _say_. Is there a script? Do I adlib?" Hiccup spread his hands. "Can I throw in a joke?"

For some reason this succeeded in slowing Birgit down. Her mouth worked as she searched for something to say. Hiccup took the chance to address Knut and Halfrid. "What do you want to do? No one's going to force you."

Birgit and some others spluttered indignantly. He ignored them.

Knut was too flustered to answer, but Halfrid tossed her head haughtily. "Go ahead." Knut nodded, ears red.

So the matter of consent was settled at least. Did they expect this to happen right here and now? From the looks on their faces, he was willing to bet on it. Well, he knew better than that. At this point his chief concern was minimizing his liability (he did not want to think on Stoick or Grima's reactions upon returning and discovering this), meaning everything was going to be as by the book as possible. That meant a proper ceremony on the proper day after proper preparations.

"Friday," he said obstinately, and held up his hands when the objections came flying. "Tell it to Frigga."

He turned and started walking back to his house. Mercifully he was not followed by Birgit, who it sounded like was lecturing Halfrid on wifely expectations and giving an opinion on what her dowry ought to be. When he heard clumsy footfalls he glanced over his shoulder to see Knut hurrying after him.

"Um, thanks," the groom-to-be said breathlessly when he caught up.

"For what?" Getting hamstrung? Hiccup might have been afraid that he was allowing a dangerous precedent for disrespect and undermining of the chief if he hadn't witnessed the same woman berating Stoick before with similar results.

Knut stammered, "I don't know. Getting the circle to calm down, I guess."

Hiccup had noted a distinct lack of calming down. "Anytime."

"There's just one problem."

"Only one?"

"I don't have a sword to give her," Knut said to his feet. "It fell apart years ago."

Ah. Traditionally the groom presented his wife with his family's sword, which would be passed down to their firstborn son, who would give it to his wife and so on. Personally Hiccup thought Halfrid was the sort who would run you through with any sword you were foolish enough to give her but Knut was plainly smitten.

His own family sword hung on a wall in his house, next to the sword his mother had given his father as her own wedding gift. Stoick never used them but kept both sharp.

"We could probably let that slide," said Hiccup.

"I have to give her _something_."

Hiccup carefully stepped around a large rock. "Knut, maybe you have other things to worry about. Like setting up a household? Any blade will do. Cutlery. A steel toothpick. A butterknife. Pick something."

Knut was so aghast he nearly stopped walking. "I am not handing down my firstborn son a _butterknife_ to pass on."

"Why not? He'd get more use out of it than he would a sword." Hiccup turned to look at Knut and felt slightly sorry for him when he saw the young man's forlorn face. This meant a lot to him.

"I'll figure something out," he assured Knut. "You'll have a sword to give her."

Apparently his word was gold, for Knut visibly brightened and he actually went off looking excited. Hiccup blew out a breath. Maybe Gobber had a sword lying around the shop he wouldn't be loathe to part with. A new one was out of the question; they were time-consuming things to craft and a proper one wouldn't be ready for weeks.

As it turned out Gobber did not have a sword handy. "We're more into battle-axes, if you haven't noticed," he informed Hiccup. The only swords that were to be found were reserved for other Vikings or belonged to one already, sent to Gobber for sharpening. In instances like Knut where a new sword was needed for a ceremony, Gobber was normally given far more notice that allowed him to forge a sword from scratch.

So Hiccup went poking around the armory. Plenty of spares were stored there along with other weapons of meandering lethality. There was something to be said for the creativity with which Vikings thought of new ways to hack at something. Astrid found him rummaging around there, with Toothless batting at the lights thrown onto the floor by hundreds of reflecting blades.

"What are you doing?"

"Finding Knut something to give Halfrid." Hiccup held one sword up. It was heavy and he needed both hands to lift it. Had Astrid really suggested he try using one of these things? "Does this look like a wedding sword to you?"

She rolled her eyes. "I wouldn't know, I've never gotten one." She put down the basket she'd been carrying and came closer to peer at it. "There's a spot of rust near the handle."

"Nobody's asking him to _use_ it."

"Have you considered that maybe nobody should be giving Halfrid a sword?"

"I suggested a butterknife."

Astrid was right about the rust. Hiccup tossed the sword on top of a pile of other rejects with a clatter. Bored with playing at spots of light, Toothless yawned and sat back with a sleepy look. Astrid began pawing through some blades.

"Doesn't it kind of defeat the purpose, you filching a sword from the armory for Knut to present to his wife?" she asked off-handedly, dangling a shortsword pinched between her thumb and forefinger.

What purpose? So far as Hiccup could tell, brides and grooms exchanged swords with the explicit understanding they would frequently brandish them at each other. "I'm not filching. Nobody's using them. We're into battle-axes." He paused. "You. _You're_ into battle-axes. I'm into butterknives."

Snorting back a laugh, Astrid held up a candidate. Hiccup went over and inspected it. Not bad. "That should work."

"Not for Knut, for you." She made him take it. "I still think you ought to take up swords. It wouldn't hurt to try."

Hiccup could think of a lot of ways it would hurt to try, and he told her several of them. Nevertheless he kept it to make her happy. Eventually he found another that was suitable to give Knut and they walked out with Toothless lumbering beside them. The swords were bundled up in cloth.

Astrid's basket happened to be full of good things to eat. Toothless nosed at it, but turned in disdain at the smell of _cooked_ meat. He was still coming to terms with the idea that his human inexplicably preferred his food charred and scarred, although sometimes Hiccup thought he pitied humans for their sensitive stomachs from the way he sadly regarded their cooking fires.

"I'm thinking of turning the ki—the training ring into a nest," he asked Astrid as they walked.

She was surprised by the suggestion. "It's not the first place I'd have thought of." Seeing he was serious she added, "Are you sure? I mean—its history..."

Hiccup knew its history. "Yeah. But I don't know if we can overlook it. Baby dragons need a safe place they can run around and get rowdy in. The ring is the best option." He dug out his notebook and flipped to a page with his drawing. "See this? We could drape the dome in winter."

Astrid looked at it but her face remained dubious. "Hiccup, it's a smart choice. But don't you think everyone would be a little... freaked out? Dragons died there. So did people."

"They'd have to get over it," Hiccup said stubbornly. "I'm going to let the Nadder decide whether or not she likes it. If so then that's where the nest goes."

She smiled at him. "You sound like a chief."

This both embarrassed and pleased him, and his face was red as he put the notebook away.

"Hiccup!"

They turned as Big Tug stomped up to them, sufficiently menacing enough that Toothless flattened back the plates on his head. Hiccup calmed him with a touch but his stomach dropped at the look on Big Tug's face, which would have been plenty intimidating even without the thunderous expression that twisted it.

Big Tug was Halfrid's father.

The huge Viking marched to a halt and furiously pointed at the bundle in Hiccup's arms with a sausage-sized finger. "Is that the sword my future _son-in-law_," he fairly spat the words out, "will be presenting to my girl in two days?"

Hiccup fought a groan. He'd thought he could count on Knut not to let the Terror out of the bag. "Why uh, why do you ask?"

"Because if he thinks that the symbol of his everlasting devotion is going to be a rejected blade from the armory, he won't live to see the wedding night," Big Tug said darkly.

He was joking. Had to be. To illustrate his faith in this, Hiccup laughed. Weakly. "Ha, ha..." It peetered out at Big Tug's scowl. "Knut's family sword fell apart a long time ago. There's no available ones in the blacksmith stall. What is he supposed to give her?"

Big Tug snorted. "It fell apart. Of course it did. Why shouldn't I think the symbol of his everlasting devotion was left neglected in a corner for so many years that it crumbled?" He fixed Hiccup with a beady eye. "Do you know the sword my girl is going to give _him_? It has been passed down for generations, and it's not even _the_ family sword. But it's in perfect condition. To look at it, you'd think it had come from the smithy yesterday."

Hiccup maneuvered the bundle so Big Tug couldn't get a look and said, "I don't think any old sword means she's any old girl to him."

The other Viking stared him down. "She's my only daughter," he said, and Hiccup was astonished to hear a break in his voice. "My little girl is getting married in two days, and he doesn't have a sword to give her."

Suddenly Hiccup felt sorry for him. The wedding wasn't abrupt only for Knut and Halfrid. She was going to pass from her parent's roof to her husband's, and her father had only forty-eight hours to reconcile himself to that.

"Why didn't you argue against this?" he couldn't help but ask. "Or for postponing it a few weeks. It's not like it's a crossbow wedding. There's no hurry." He would not believe Big Tug was simply too intimidated by Birgit to object.

Big Tug's shoulders slumped. "Halfrid loves him," he mumbled. "The gods know why."

Hiccup looked helplessly at Astrid, who shrugged right back. Toothless was staring in wonder at a threat neutralizing itself so quickly.

"He won't give her a sword he got from the armory," Hiccup heard himself promise.

Big Tug grunted, but he looked relieved. Muttering something about dowries to prepare, he turned and strode away a little less violently than he'd come up to them. As they watched him walk off, Astrid shook her head.

"Hiccup, you promised Knut that you'd find him a sword, and now you've just promised Big Tug you wouldn't."

"Well—" Hiccup coughed—"what I said was that Knut wouldn't give her a sword he got from the armory."

She raised an eyebrow. "And what hair is it you're splitting?"

"Hiccup!"

"Oh for Odin's—"

Knut came skidding to a stop. Bringing that much Viking to a quick halt wasn't easy and he had to dig in his heels. He looked around anxiously. "Is he gone?"

"Big Tug? Yeah, he's—"

"Listen, forget about the sword."

Hiccup frowned. "Is this about your father-in-law?" Was he ever going to get to have lunch?

Knut flushed. "He's right. Halfrid deserves better than some old sword that's been collecting dust for ages. I'll, I'll get a proper one forged. It will be just a few weeks late."

"How about _not marrying_ for a few weeks?" Let Grima or his father worry about this.

The boy kicked a clod of dirt. "Hiccup, I've been trying to marry Halfrid for _ages_. Up till now her father wouldn't even hear of it. It's only because the women's circle is pressing it that he's given in. If we wait, they might...might not care so much by then."

A suspicion began to form. "Knut," started Hiccup, "did you two—did you and Halfrid _plan_ all this?"

Upon seeing the guilty look on the boy's face, Hiccup groaned aloud and Astrid started snickering. Toothless had by now given up on understanding human behavior and was investigating a nearby bush. Something inside squawked and he whuffed back.

Now Hiccup was annoyed. "You waited for my father to leave," he accused. "So nobody could stand up to Birgit."

"You did," said Knut. "Sorry. It really seemed like the only way. But I still want to give her a sword that means something. Better that then presenting her with a piece of junk that's been in my family for all of a few hours."

"Go away, Knut. Go away and let me think."

Knut went away, rubbing at his neck apologetically.

Astrid started laughing as soon as he'd gone. "Oh, wow. So what are you going to do with that sword?"

Hiccup let his shoulders fall and stared up. "I'll think of something."

* * *

><p>Evening came and went, and too quickly it was morning again. Hiccup lay with his back against Toothless, having already done his morning rounds in the village. Mostly they had consisted of nodding at whatever he was shown and telling everybody to keep up the good work. As always when a wedding loomed, Berk became as festive as it ever did. The men and women formed secretive sides that teased the other and laughed amongst themselves.<p>

Knut and Halfrid could hardly go around without being enveloped by well-meaning entourages constantly offering advice. Now that everybody was more or less resolved about the wedding, typical excitement crept in. Even the dragons sensed it and enthusiastically hopped around.

Hiccup still didn't know what to do about the sword. He wanted Knut and Big Tug to get along; four days in and still there were no outstanding bloodfeuds, and he wanted to keep it that way. Somehow he didn't think either would be satisfied with a raincheck for a good sword. Big Tug would always hold it against his son-in-law for coming to the wedding empty-handed.

After a while he was joined by Astrid, Snotlout, Fishlegs and the twins, with a few Terrors in tow. Stoick, upon his departure, had tactfully advised his son to avoid being seen to play favorites, and that included spending all his time with his friends. But a little time wouldn't hurt, and anyway nobody could say that Haddock was neglecting his duties.

Possibly against his better judgement, he told the rest about Knut's little dilemma. Predictably, they thought it was hilarious. Hiccup supposed he might have thought it funny too, if he didn't feel responsible for finding a solution.

"Who says it has to be a sword?" asked Ruffnut after she'd finished giggling. "Spears are better anyway." She patted her own spear fondly.

"Or a hammer," offered Fishlegs.

"Just remember," said Hiccup glumly, "that whatever weapon you could give Halfrid, you'd still be giving Halfrid a weapon."

This stilled their jokes. "A sword it is," declared Tuffnut. "I don't think she knows how to use those."

Astrid said under her breath, "I'm still voting for the butterknife."

Hiccup smiled and studied the sky. He liked being around them. Before, when he was still on the outside looking in, he'd always sort of dismissed their smalltalk as inconsequential though he envied their popularity and the cool jobs they got. Their conversations hadn't really changed any, still full of boasts and jokes and teasing, but for some reason these talks were valuable to him now.

"My dad didn't have a sword either," Snotlout said. "He had to dig up his great-uncle's grave or something to get one. I bet it was gross."

"He did _what_?"

Fishlegs sat forward. "I've heard that before," he said eagerly. "When somebody doesn't have a sword, sometimes they have to open the grave of some ancestor that was buried with theirs. And then the ancestor comes back as a ghost and gives them advice."

Collectively they stared at him. Tuffnut turned to Hiccup with a grin. "Well, there you go. Play dear old great-grandaddy."

"We don't know who was buried with a sword," said Astrid thoughtfully.

"Wait." Hiccup held up his hands. "You're not serious." When nobody said anything, he became incredulous. "That is just a little more effort than I was planning to go to."

"Aw, we know you'd do anything to help a Berkian out," Ruffnut punched him affectionately. "What's graverobbing next to battling a giant dragon?"

"Um, possibly illegal."

"You know it's not."

"We could not and say we did," said Fishlegs. "Knut could tell Big Tug he got it from a grave."

Maybe. Hiccup was doubtful, though. Knut was not the best at keeping secrets. Nor was he keen on giving Halfrid a sword from outside the family anymore. Sooner or later, he'd spill the beans and land himself _and_ Hiccup in hot water with Big Tug. The best thing to do was see if there was an available sword buried with some great-something-or-other and acquire it legitmately.

Unfortunately, after some discreet querying around the village, it seemed unlikely. "That lot was always more into battle-axes," said Snagrod knowingly. Go figure.

So Hiccup got an idea.

* * *

><p>"Knut!"<p>

The young man looked up to see Hiccup standing at the doorway with a shovel in his hands, dark against the stars.

"Come on."

Knut got up warily. He'd been in the process of polishing his horned helm. Hiccup was almost afraid to ask if he intended to wear it to the ceremony. "What's going on? The wedding's not till sunrise."

Night had fallen heavily. Bonfires speckled the cliff side. Every so often you saw the bright puff of a dragon's breath, and then darkness pressed into the void even more. Hiccup started walking and after a moment's hesitation Knut began to follow.

"We're going to get you a sword," said Hiccup with more confidence than he felt. There were so many ways this could go wrong.

"A sword? Hiccup, I don't—"

"—want to give Halfrid any old sword," Hiccup finished. "Well, you won't. Now shh."

They were silent as they started trudging up the hill. After a few minutes Hiccup was sure his prosthesis needed some tweaks for uphill traveling; it was killer on the hip joint. "Nothing like a little night air to clear the head," he laughed breathlessly when Knut looked at him in concern.

Finally they reached the cemetery. The memorial site of Vikings past lay to the west of Berk, a hilly patch of land that jutted high above the water crashing below. Even in death, their people could not leave the sea. Hiccup stopped in relief to survey the area. Everything looked ready.

Up came Astrid, Fishlegs and Snotlout, each bearing a shovel. Astrid held two. "They're here to help," said Hiccup. Knut only stared in confusion.

They moved into the graveyard.

Once a year Stoick visited this place. Hiccup had never come with him on those anniversaries, but he'd often been to the spot Stoick returned to each year. This place gave him a hollow sensation in his bones, when he thought of how many Vikings were buried here that had breathed their last staring into a dragon's eyes. Here, he understood the importance of what he and Toothless had achieved. So many graves that would not be dug, not for a long time at least.

"What are we doing here?" Knut asked. "Nobody in my family was buried with a sword." So he knew of that particular tradition.

"That you know of," Hiccup corrected. They moved among the graves until he paused in front of a mossy headstone. "Meet dear old Great-great-great-great Uncle Spadding."

Knut repeated the name slowly, having obviously never heard it before.

Astrid handed him a shovel. "Start digging."

The boy held the tool like he didn't know what to do with it. "Dig?" he said in disbelief. Astrid pointed to the space in front of the gravestone.

"Right there."

"It's a grave! I can't just—who is Uncle Spadding?" Knut sounded a little hysterical. His eyes were bobbing in the dark, darting from one face to another.

Snotlout placed a hand over his heart. In the dark Hiccup could just barely discern the severe struggle with which he kept his face straight. "Good old Spadding," he said in tones of mourning.

"He loved to juggle axes, but it was the dragon pox that got him," added Fishlegs.

"Fortunately," said Astrid, "he was buried with his sword." She thrust Knut toward the grave. He balanced on his toes as though trying to keep from walking off a cliff.

"And how is he related again?" Knut babbled.

"He's your grandmother's brother-in-law's aunt-by-marriage's stepfather," Astrid said impatiently. "Dig."

Faced with her scowl, Knut wordlessly began to shovel. Hiccup started to breathe a little easier, but he still counted the minutes worriedly. Together with the others they made short work of a few feet of dirt. Knut did not seem to think it odd how easily the topsoil broke apart, due to the fact that the particular patch of earth in which they were digging had been removed previously to his arrival, with a square of grass carefully cut away and put back again.

Fishlegs's shovel hit wood first. They bent down to scrabble at the remaining dirt. Knut hardly had time to object before Hiccup made to pry off a corner from the lid of the coffin they'd uncovered. He kneeled to peek inside and exhaled a little in quiet relief, then motioned for Knut to come forward. The boy approached apprehensively.

"Open it."

Looking rather green, Knut bent beside Hiccup and opened the coffin lid the rest of the way. Inside, a moth-eaten funeral veil covered the body beneath. At Snotlout's rough jabbing Knut reluctantly pinched a corner of the veil and drew it back with a deep breath.

The face that was revealed had a white-green cast to it, so that it hardly bore any resemblance to human skin. A faintly nauseating odor arose from the body. "Ugh," Knut said in disgust, and pinched his nose before lifting the veil the rest of the way. "He's only half-rotted." A snigger escaped from Snotlout.

White hands clutched the hilt of a sword. Knut gasped in delight, forgetting his squeamishness for a moment.

"A sword! You were right! He really was buried with one." His hands darted forward, then hovered above the hilt.

"Take it," Hiccup encouraged.

Knut overcame his revulsion just enough to pick at the fingers gripping the hilt, then to pry them off one by one. It really was gross, Hiccup marveled. The sword came free of the hands, and Knut held it up triumphantly in his fist.

"I got it! I have a sword!" He jumped up excitedly, holding his shovel in one hand and his newfound sword in the other. "Oh man, this fixes everything!" Hiccup started, remembering how he once said something eerily similar right before everything went wrong.

"Ooo."

Knut dropped his arms, still grinning. "What'd you say?" he asked Hiccup.

Hiccup gritted his teeth. "I said we should go."

"Ooo."

"That wasn't you," Knut said wonderingly, looking at Astrid, Fishlegs and Snotlout in turn. "Who—?"

"Knuuuut," came a voice from the dark.

As one they turned to see the corpse rising from its unearthed grave, arms raised and fingers spread. Its eyes opened and rolled, revealing pale blue irises clouded by death. "You took my swooord, Knuuuut," it said. "Now what will I use to paddle across the Gjöll—"

"AHH!" Knut screamed, and swung the shovel at it. It struck the corpse upside the head and flung it backwards.

They collectively gasped, and Hiccup slapped a hand to his head. The steel helmet the body had been buried in had absorbed the blow, but not the anger. At least he hadn't swung the sword. The corpse scrambled back up and started hopping up and down in rage.

"You hit me!" it yelled indignantly. "You just hit me! I'm your uncle and I'm dead and you hit me!"

Knut hit it again.

"You little twit! Fine! Fine! A pox on your firstborn! Your kids will all have acne!"

"Stop that!" Hiccup snapped, grabbing Knut's arm as he drew back a third time. "Stop! That's your ancestor!"

"Yeah, are you trying to kill me again?" the corpse demanded.

Astrid's expression was dangerous as she muttered, "I might," low enough that only Hiccup heard. He had the awful feeling this was about to spiral out of control.

"I don't think he wants to harm you," he hissed to Knut.

"Well, I _didn't_," said the corpse, still furious. "What's the bright idea Knut? This how you greet family?"

"How," stammered Knut, "how do you know my name?" The grip on his shovel was white-knuckled. Hiccup eyed the sword in his hand nervously.

The corpse made an angry noise and raised its hands again. "I know all about youuu, nephew," it shrieked. "I know a Gronkle head-butted you in the fanny during dragon training and you couldn't sit for a week! I know all about that book of poetry you thought you'd hidden. It was terrible! Nothing rhymes with orange! Stop trying!"

"Shut up!" Hiccup shouted at it. "Knut's sorry. Aren't you?" He prodded the boy's shoulder. "Aren't you?"

Knut decided he was. "Yes, yes!" He threw down the shovel. "Take it back! The pox and the acne!"

"Well, I don't know if I should," the corpse sniffed. "I _was_ going to come back to life so I could share with you the mysteries of the universe on the eve of your wedding, but now I don't think I want to. I might just haunt you for eternity."

"Of course you won't," Astrid snarled at it. "He's family. Remember?"

Hiccup struggled to maintain control. "I think he wants to help you," he said in a calming tone he'd used on skittish dragons before. "Isn't that what ancestors do?"

"Kids these days," muttered the body. "You come and dig me up and take my sword and you hit me with a shovel. Ungrateful brat."

Finally dropping the sword, Knut clapped his hand to his mouth. "I'm so sorry. Please don't curse my kids."

The corpse crossed its arms. "I'll think about it."

"Did you have any questions for your uncle, Knut?" Hiccup prompted, still using his most placid voice. By this point he'd usually gotten the dragon to ease its hackles.

Knut tried to compose himself, and stared wildly as he tried to formulate a query. "Um—what's the secret to life?"

"A brayette. Next."

In the background Hiccup threw up his hands.

"How can I be a good husband?"

"Let her win some of the arguments," the corpse advised. "But not so many that she suspects you're letting her win."

Astrid narrowed her eyes. Hiccup turned his eyes to the heavens and twiddled his thumbs. By his thoughtful expression it was clear that Knut was storing this tidbit away for future consideration.

"Last question," Hiccup coughed.

Thinking for a moment, Knut asked, "What's it like to die?"

"If it were fun, I'd have done it twice."

That was that. Hiccup clapped his palms with enthusiasm. "Isn't that great? You got to meet your ancestor. Special. But you should be getting to bed now, you have a big day ahead of you." Turning to the corpse he said, "Thanks for visiting, Uncle Spadding. Go back to uh, ghost land."

"Sorry to wake you," Knut called over his shoulder as Snotlout and Fishlegs began steering him away.

Once they were out of earshot, Hiccup leaned over and put his hands on his knees. Astrid lowered her head and slanted a hard look at the corpse. "You were this close," she pinched the air to illustrate, "to getting hit with a shovel again. Nobody told you to talk!"

"I was giving him the full experience. He really buys into it now."

Laughter erupted from behind a grave some yards back. Ruffnut stood up, as best she could while wheezing her hilarity. Tuffnut rubbed chalk dust from his face and clambered from the grave pit. They all worked to fill in the cavity with earth again, and patted down the top. Hiccup looked at the rock he'd quickly engraved earlier that day, and bid farewell to the Uncle Spadding that never was.

The twins loped ahead as they started back, bickering and shoving each other. When Tuffnut had volunteered to get buried alive, Hiccup had had his doubts until Ruffnut assured him that it wouldn't be the first time she'd interred him six feet under. Not daring to ask, Hiccup agreed. Of any of them, Knut had the least interaction with Tuffnut and would be less likely to recognize him than anyone else. Ruffnut had stayed out of sight so her presence wouldn't cause Knut to recall her twin and wonder where he was. They'd covered Tuffnut up just before Hiccup and Knut reached the cemetery, to ensure he had enough time to breathe.

Astrid noticed that Hiccup was having a little trouble with his hip and held out her arm. He took it gratefully.

"So, everytime someone dumps their problem in your lap, are you going to chase down a Boneknapper or fake an ancestor's ghost or do something else really crazy?" Astrid asked conversationally.

Hiccup blew out his breath. "Probably."

"Good." Astrid kissed his cheek.

They drifted to a stop in the cemetery. Hiccup stared down at the headstone he'd paused at. For a minute neither said anything. He became aware of how quiet this place was at night, how far removed from the life and light of the village. It saddened him a little.

"Did you know her at all?" Astrid asked softly. He shook his head.

Valhallarama had died when Hiccup was an infant, unable to withstand the illness that had swept the village that winter. Not two months after becoming a father, Stoick had become a widower. And he had remained one since, never remarrying.

From what he had gleaned from Gobber and rare, brief conversations with his dad, Hiccup knew Valhallarama to have been a stalwart, warm woman with strength to spare. Much as he resembled Stoick (in coloring if not build), he did not expect he took after her much in looks.

It was odd, never having a mother. She'd died before he'd understood her place in his life. Growing up, mothers were something you knew other people had, but you didn't. Hiccup remembered his left foot. Sometimes he even felt phantom sensations from the part of the limb that was no longer there. He remembered running and swimming without tiring from the weight in his leg. He had not known his mother and so could not remember her; he feared at times this meant he couldn't miss her.

Suddenly he badly missed Toothless and wanted to be in bed. They kept walking.

* * *

><p>Some part of Hiccup had hoped that Grima would appear overnight, fresh from her sojourn at the shrines, but it wasn't to be. He would have to go ahead with the ceremony himself.<p>

Birgit did, in fact, have a script. She handed it over and after reviewing it Hiccup automatically made some revisions.

They gathered at the front of Berk, that bit which came closest to the sea. Stoick had once compared land to a Viking's bones, and the sea was its blood. Salty as the people of Berk were, Hiccup could half believe it.

Knut and Halfrid emerged from their respective homes, skin pink from the vigorous scrubbings that had been inflicted upon them. Everyone else looked rather nice too, with plaits redone and beards de-bugged. Hiccup himself wore pretty much his normal clothing, having no desire to don the robe Grima usually wore to these things.

Astrid looked very pretty in her linen dress, not a skull to be found on her. So did Ruffnut.

When everyone had arranged themselves they looked expectantly to Hiccup. He cleared his throat nervously and indicated for them to exchange their gifts. Big Tug had cobbled together a fairly impressive dowry in the short amount of time he'd been given. Finally they exchanged swords and rings. Halfrid's sword was a handsome one that shone in the daylight, but Knut was equally proud as he gave her the one he'd excavated the night before. Hiccup carefully studied the ground.

It turned out he had to say very little. Knut and Halfrid did most of the talking. She spoke her vows clearly and firmly, and he shyly but with great joy. Big Tug was clearly pleased with his new son-in-law for having gone to such effort to unearth a respectable sword.

Hiccup felt a _little_ sorry for the deception, but it was for the best. And besides, Knut had been the first to lie.

After the ceremony everybody started to rush to the great-hall for the feast. Hiccup lingered behind as Astrid and Ruffnut came up to him, and together they walked more slowly.

"You survived your first challenge as chief," said Astrid smiling. "How's it feel?"

"I feel hungry."

* * *

><p>Note:<p>

This turned out a little longer than I'd intended. I thought about splitting this up into two chapters, but decided it worked better as one piece. It seemed interesting to challenge Hiccup with a little domestic adventure first. Toothless was a little absent in this chapter but he'll be featured more.

I looked up Viking culture and traditions, and tried to stick close to them for the most part but took some liberties as well.

Reviews are appreciated!


	3. The Mind's Eye, Part I

Renamed from 'Adventures in Berksitting.' The next chapter will likely be longer than this. I might have taken some scientific liberties here but I figure when you're writing about a mythical creature you're not exactly bound by convention. Comments are always welcomed.

Minding the Fort

Chapter Three: **The Mind's Eye, Part I**

Below them the waves tossed, angrily churning up white foam that sprayed up to meet them. They flew a hundred yards above the water, fighting the wind that seemed to change direction continuously. One moment it was at their backs, propelling them forward too quickly; then it buffeted them so that Toothless fought to keep his wings flapping.

Riding a dragon in perfect weather took balance and surety; in such stormy conditions, none other than Hiccup had the mastery to chance it. The boy kept his knees tight, body pitched forward to avoid getting tossed off by the gusts. It was not out of bravado that they dared to fly in this weather. They were on the hunt.

Nearly a week had passed since the Viking chieftain had left the village; temporarily, Toothless was given to understand, leaving his son in charge. This was evident by the (occasionally grudging) deference shown to him by the others in the village, not unlike the manner in which dragons submitted to the authority of the only resident Night Fury. Although Toothless could sense the boy's discomfort, Hiccup hid it well.

That morning a Viking spearman burst into the shop where Hiccup frequently worked when not attending to his new responsibilities. Once any startlement from a human would have sent the Fury into hackles; now, he simply watched bemused as the Viking told Hiccup of a ship spotted a few miles off the island coast. Now that dragons had been fully integrated into the human society, they conducted daily "sweeps" of the surrounding waters to keep an advanced eye out for unfriendly parties.

This ship, said the spearman, was fully wrecked and half-submerged, the ruins barely staying afloat. From what he could discern by the tattered sails and shape of the boat, it did not belong to any Viking tribe. The weather had forced him to abort the flight before he could investigate for survivors. Before leaving, however, he noted something odd about the wreckage.

Hiccup was not one to abandon a hapless sailor to the sea, so he and Toothless had set off without delay. Astrid and Fishlegs had tried to talk them out of it, but no matter how he denied it Hiccup was incurably heroic and it had rubbed off on his dragon.

But even Toothless's excellent vision was having difficulty spotting a ship. They would have to rely on the specific directions given to them by the spearman, and Vikings were such precise navigators that they ought to be exact.

Just where the spearman said it would, a hulking mass of splintered wood and whipping rags for sails emerged into sight shortly ahead. Hiccup adjusted the tail fin minutely and they circled around the ship. The wind screamed at them.

There was definitely something odd about the wreckage. It clearly had not been the victim of an attack from another ship. Rather, the boat looked as though it had been the unlucky recipient of an enormous, crushing hug around the middle. It had been snapped in half, and only one side jutted above the water like a wooden iceberg.

"Okay, buddy," said his human. Toothless more felt the tiny vibrations from his speech than heard the words themselves, so greatly did the wind and waves work to drown them out.

They set down on what had been the bow, wobbling slightly as Toothless gripped for a solid perch. Hiccup cupped his hands around his mouth.

"Hello?" he hollered. "Anybody here?"

If anybody heard that over the noise, they did not respond so the two could hear. His boy slid off the saddle carefully, keeping his hands clenched on a leather strap to steady himself on the rocking mess. Toothless grumbled a little worriedly, but Hiccup reassured him with a hand. But the small slides he took were anything but confident. The pitching wreck would be difficult for anyone to stay upright on but a prosthesis was a further hindrance to balance.

Hiccup maneuvered until he reached the ruined cabin, and stuck his head through the door. Toothless watched anxiously as his human disappeared inside. No life was visible around them. Anybody still in the water would have drowned by this point. If any survivors lingered, they would have had to reach the cabin for limited shelter.

After a few minutes Hiccup reemerged, shaking his head. He held a sopping, bulging bag that Toothless percieved to be full of books.

"Everybody's gone," his human said in disappointment, and began to make his way back to Toothless.

The Fury's sharp hearing discerned the crack of wood as what remained of the mast gave up its fight against the gale. Hiccup would not have heard it, but the dragon's sudden reaction to the noise tipped him off and he pressed against the cabin.

With a hideous groan the mast tipped over. Fast as Toothless was, he just had time to see the horror in Hiccup's eyes, and his mouth forming Toothless's name, as the timber came crashing down on the Night Fury. He barely registered the blow, so quickly did it daze him.

Hiccup abandoned caution and fought his way back, shouting the dragon's name all the while.

After that things became hazy and uncertain. Sensations came and went. The dragon was vaguely aware of weight pressing against him, then being rolled off with an effort. His head felt funny, like it wasn't attached to the rest of him. The roar of the maddened ocean reached him from a great distance, the smell of salt a faint aroma, the soft, pink hands on his head smoothing the skin of a different creature.

"Oh, Toothless, buddy," came a sound. Toothless couldn't think what it meant. Another faraway feeling as his wings were lifted and prodded, and one of those pink hands ran along the length of them. His wings didn't hurt. Nothing hurt. The hands poked and pressed at him, at his ribs and back and tail.

"We gotta get out of here, buddy." That sound again. Toothless sensed a small weight easing onto his back. A click. The balance in his tail shifted; a fin that seemed to adjust of its own accord. He tried to move the fin and couldn't.

A slight pull at his neck. Instinctively he stretched his wings. Why it was instinctive he couldn't imagine. His legs bent as he fell into a crouch, a split second before launching into the sky and into the storm. The gale's force was shocking. Click. The fin moved. He steered away from the place he'd been before, the wind at his back, pushing and carrying him. Carrying was good. He felt heavy; his wings beat slowly. Why couldn't he control that fin?

Rain, wind, the slight burden on his back. All far away.

He floated along in a dreamlike state, watching from outside himself as he sluggishly flew over foam and wreckage. Where had that come from? His curiosity was blunted, like it had run short into a wall, and he was continuing beyond it.

It might have been seconds or minutes or hours later that he was guided by some unseen force to land again. He was too tired to wonder at it. Ground wasn't there and then it was. Rock. Grass. The weight slid off his back and then the hands were there again, stroking his head.

"Buddy," came the sound, accompanied by others. Into his line of heavy-lidded vision came a pair of eyes, green staring things that made him uneasy. Then they were gone again and he felt himself being steered. He came along docilely. More sounds came, different pitches and tones, highs and lows. He heard "Toothless" a few times, weird un-animal noises that didn't make sense.

Rain stopped. No, not stopped. He was inside. It was warm. The hands guided him just far enough indoors so that all of the dragon was sheltered from the rain. Suddenly his legs felt too leaden, his head too unable to stay up, for him to take another step.

He collapsed with a thud, and was aware no longer.

…

Pictures whirled through his head, strange and impossible things that came from nowhere. Humans. An enormous dragon. Flying. Fire, and those green eyes again.

He became aware. He lay on dirt. Something blocked the sun; he sensed that though his eyes were closed. Smells and sounds began to register, and then the pain. It made him cringe and snarl, the ache in his head.

Eventually he felt well enough to open his eyes. He had to, the smells and sounds were nonsensical; surely they were mistakes. First he saw only shapes and colors that took time to resolve into things. When they did, he was as confused as before.

He recognized the objects he saw, but he had never seen them so close up—only from far above, just before he scorched them with a powerful blast. Wood hacked and reattached to form unnatural shapes. Clay molded into hollow forms. Animal hair woven into thin stretched hides spread over pieces of the odd things fashioned from wood. Nothing was in its natural, original form.

Humans did things like that.

Alarm deafened the thudding in his head, and the dragon shot up, suddenly awake. He was _inside_. Not inside a cave, as he had sheltered in before, but a place with no exits. Wait! There, a little square of light through which he could see open sky. But it was so small. He could not have possibly come in through that. This place was backwards and alien, and it stank of humans.

What was he doing there? Had he been captured? The last thing he'd known... a dark night, lit only by stars and dragonsbreath, human dwellings aflame. And then—some devilish thing come whipping from below, twin stones spiraling around each other and searching for him in the sky to wrap around his body and bind his wings tight.

A low, dark growl started deep within his throat. He began to search for an exit, to get away and collect himself before the humans could find and destroy him. Well and in his element, nobody stood to match him, but in his weakened state he did not want to risk a confrontation before he was ready. The dragon knew they feared him here; "Night Fury" was a human noise he knew well, from the times he had unleashed his wrath upon the—village, it was called. Humans lived in villages.

Something in his tail didn't feel right. The dragon arced his neck and stared at his fins. They were the same size, same shape and same weight, but one was his and one was not. A panic edged his consciousness.

When he had begun to consider throwing himself against one of the too-small holes, a rectangle improbably opened in the side of the dwelling, revealing the frame of a human. The Fury flattened the plates on his head and hissed, throwing his face into a contortion of rage. Unexpectedly, the human gave a sound of joy and rushed forward.

"Toothless!"

Outsized and outpowered by a dragon, the Fury had not expected the human—a boy, he saw—to attack. It threw him off and he drew back in surprise before he could unleash a jet of flame. The boy ran forward awkwardly and threw its arms around his neck. The dragon bellowed and pushed the human back with a mighty swipe of his foreleg.

The human went sprawling and its happy noises faded to silence. Those green eyes. They were wide and staring in astonishment. The boy breathed hard.

"Toothless?"

The same sound, but a different inflection that changed the meaning. How could the same noise mean two different things? The Fury nearly forgot himself in wonder before he remembered that a human was there, _right there_, in front of him, and it had had the gall to be unafraid and rush to him. He bared his teeth, and was satisfied to see the human scoot back a foot.

Suddenly he knew. The boy had done this to him. It had captured him somehow and brought him here. It had done... _this_ to his tail. It had broken him!

The Fury grew wild with hate and darted forward, slamming the human's chest with a foreleg and pinning it to the ground. The boy went down hard and gasped. Pink, pathetic hands scrabbled at his leg futilely. He pressed down harder.

"Toothless!" A _third_ meaning. First, this sound had been joyful, and then incredulous, and now it had a pleading note. The dragon hesitated, and did not breathe death. For an eternal moment they stayed there, luminous yellow eyes boring into green.

"Don't you remember me?" The boy's fear had become fringed with inexplicable hurt. The Fury could smell both of those emotions; the two made a confusing blend. "Toothless... buddy..." It raised its hand now to his face. That was much too impudent and the dragon growled. The hand dropped.

Another eternity. Still the Fury made no move to kill it, and the human boy stared up with those eyes that said so much. Blood had drained from its face, a dragon had it by the chest, and still some other emotion outweighed the fear.

Familiarity. That was what he'd seen in the human's face when it appeared in the doorway. It shocked him.

Eventually he had to move. That, or kill it. He stood poised, nose to nose with the frail creature, but he could not do it. Would not. Knowing that, there was nothing to do but leave this place.

The Fury released his hold on the boy and rounded for the rectangle of light that opened to the outdoors. It was a tight fit but he squeezed out, bolting in a full run to stretch his wings. The wind caught them, lifted him up—and then his world whirled, and he fell. The fin on his tail that was not his flapped uselessly, failing to catch the air correctly. The dragon nosedived into dirt.

Upon raising his head the first thing he saw was more humans. And... dragons!

Was it a raid? No, it was daytime, and nothing was on fire. The dragons were simply _there_, cavorting around and clearly having a good time. Sheep were grazing unmolested.

Happy sounds. A few of the humans turned to him and began trotting forward. Typically, they carried their instruments of war. Long metal claws, hooked or straight or serrated, they call caught the light wickedly. Now _this_ was more like it. This, he understood. The Fury crouched and snarled, drawing upon the furnace burning ever brightly within him. The humans would know just who they had brought down, and the wrath that they would face for it.

He opened his jaws.

"No!" shouted the boy he'd left behind. Its hands pushed at his head, laughably weak, but the surprise of it succeeded in misdirecting his flame and it burst harmlessly against the ground. The human's arrogance nearly took his breath away.

Letting the boy live had been a mistake. The Fury would not make it twice.


	4. The Mind's Eye, Part II

Thanks for the reviews last chapter!

Minding the Fort

Chapter Four: **The Mind's Eye, Part II**

* * *

><p>Letting the boy live had been a mistake. The Fury would not make it twice.<p>

With a roar that shook the bones, the dragon spun and violently knocked the insolent human to the ground. Shock stilled the other humans. Their astonishment barely registered in the back of the Fury's mind. His attention was fixed with blazing intensity on the boy trapped gasping beneath his claws.

The Fury opened his jaws. Fire welled in the back of his throat. Not inches from the human's face, he inhaled deeply, then—

"Achoo!"

The boy sneezed in his face.

Startled, the dragon jerked his head back reflexively and the fire in his thorax dwindled. It was just enough time for the quicker-thinking Vikings to recover from their stupefaction and collectively leap on him before he could deliver his killing strike. He could hardly bay his frustration as half a dozen of them wrestled his head to the ground and forced his claws from the boy's chest.

From the corner of his eye he saw his prey sit up none too quickly, wheezing. A human girl rushed to its side, followed by several others.

"Hiccup! Are you alright?" it noised at the boy.

It did not respond, but looked at the Fury with confounded eyes. The two stared at each other, and the dragon kept his gaze level as he waited for the killing blow by the humans trapping his jaws.

It didn't come.

After a few moments the Fury felt confused; he had never known humans to hesitate in their slaughter. He realized they were looking at the boy; no, looking _to_ the boy, waiting for its word. Slowly it got up, unaided but closely attended to by the yellow-haired girl who was gripping an axe protectively. Seeing it raised the dragon's hackles again. He smelled the nervousness of the men that held him down. The fear was still there.

The boy moved forward until its eyes were again far too close. The Fury stared balefully back.

"Toothless. Buddy, what's wrong with you? What's happened?" The inflection was questioning, atypical of someone just threatened by a beast prepared to end its life. It touched his head. The dragon thundered his disapproval but the boy did not move its hand.

"Hold him still," it told its fellows. Then it bent to examine him, running its hands over his head and neck, stopping to prod at a particularly sore spot behind his head-plates. The Fury tried to roar.

What on earth was happening? Nothing made sense. Instead of ending his life as he knew they'd always wanted to, the humans were merely incapacitating him and allowing this human boy to inspect his wound. And rather than rush to his aid, the dragons he'd seen only gathered in uncertainty, although he could sense their growing discomfort. Why did they just sit there?

Some humans came up with restraints and fitted them around his head and body. The boy seemed ready to protest but held back, confusing the dragon further. It stared at the Fury with what he recognized as sorrow. Its shoulders slumped and hands now hung at its sides. The girl now had a hand on its shoulder, and was staring at the dragon uncomprehendingly as well.

"He took a hard knock to the head," the boy—Hiccup? That appeared to be its term of address—said numbly. "A concussion, or... there's still so much we don't know about them..."

Sympathy was directed at the boy from all sides, and at the Fury too. He sensed it. Their scents, their tones, were all devoid of the anger he'd come to expect.

With the collars fitted infuriatingly to his body, they loaded him onto a pushcart and bolted the restraints down. A part of him was pleased how carefully they went about it; he was not a dragon you took your chances with. Then they wheeled him back inside, chattering at each other all the while, arcing bewilderment and distress and worry that spiraled around each other in a song of emotions.

He was inside again, after a fashion. Unable to lift his head, he could see the place they wheeled him to was a different one from where he'd been kept before. Here, a dome of sorts had been created from webbed chains. An uncomfortable smell permeated the area, and the feeling of neglect too; the smells of past humans were months old.

There they left him. All but the human boy and and girl. A few others lingered in concern but the boy dismissed them with some words. Odd. The boy was not the largest or strongest or even oldest of them, but they deferred to its authority without much question. Humans had an unusual way of structuring their hierarchy.

The Fury knew the leader of this place, a large human with bright eyes and a great red mass of hair at its neck. He had seen the man before, had directed a blast at it once or twice. Where was it?

He avoided the boy's disconcerting stare. Humans were too aggressive with their eye contact. Again, the boy—Hiccup—placed its hand on his head presumptuously.

"What are we going to do?" it mumbled. "Buddy, it's me. It's Hiccup. I'm your friend. Remember? Remember flying?"

The Fury studied him guardedly. A minute passed and the boy let his hand drop.

"Hiccup," began the girl. "We—we should go. You should go."

"I can't leave him here," the boy protested.

"You can't do anything now. Maybe he'll get back to his senses overnight." Its tone was hopeful, but the dragon knew the furrowing of the brows to be anything but optimistic. Another oddity: creatures that said a thing one way, while they felt something else. Out of any beast he'd come across, humans were the only ones that relied on deception to function.

The girl put a hand on the boy's shoulder and gently, but firmly, drew it away. Directing a last, mournful look over its shoulder, Hiccup allowed itself to be steered from the arena. Then he was truly alone.

Night shrouded the arena. Moonlight came and went as clouds passed overhead. It was quiet. The restraints binding him to the cart made it difficult for the dragon to sleep, if his wariness hadn't. A large human came along at one point to carefully unfasten his muzzle and offer a fish. The Fury did not accept it at first, fearing some trick, but the human only waited patiently until he finally ate it. He knew that to take advantage of the very limited mobility he'd been given by the muzzle's removal to kill the human was foolish, as he could not get at the remaining collars still. The human knew this too, and that infuriated him.

He knew they were being careful to keep him alive and unharmed. What he did not know was why.

A nagging sense that had lurked in the back of his mind since he'd woken to alien surroundings now inched closer to the front. Something was missing, something important. It itched his memory.

Half an hour later a Terrible Terror came sneaking into the arena. The Fury saw him and his head-plates came up hopefully, but the little dragon made no move to free him, though it easily could have. The small thing simply crooned at him, almost pleadingly, until the Fury snorted at it in exasperation after it was clear the Terror refused to be of any help.

This bizarre relationship between the humans and dragons seemed to have sprung up overnight. Nothing explained it.

Morning came and went, the sun rose and lingered above, then continued its journey to sink in the west. The boy came only once, nominally alone but the dragon spied the yellow-haired girl hovering near the arena entrance. He was sore and stiff from his time in the constraints. From the worry that crossed the human's face, it was aware of this and concerned by it. Again, the dragon was baffled by its sentiment and this time did not resist as the boy patted his nose and scratched his head a little, steering clear of the sorest part of his skull.

His permissiveness appeared to relax the boy a little, but doubt clouded its eyes as it became obvious that the Fury was still not responding the way it hoped.

The boy turned away reluctantly and walked to the exit.

The dragon was surprised to note the boy's false leg, which in the torrid conflict before he had not noticed. While the missing limb did not seem to pain it, a limp hindered its ease in walking. Surprising himself, the Fury felt a little sorry for it. Humans were such frail creatures that anything at all could set them back. They only had the two legs to begin with, choosing inexplicably not to balance on their upper limbs as well. He wondered how it had happened.

A long time passed. The sun made another trip over the horizon. Night fell again. The Fury was by now aching head to tail. The restraints were meant to confine and bind; they lent no support at all and so the dragon had to remain standing of its own power, unable to lay down.

He suspected there was a discrepancy of time between what he remembered and what had occurred since. How long? Hours, days? Evidently enough time had passed for a radical shift in the balance between the humans of this village and the dragons that had apparently made themselves at home there.

Faint rustling alerted him to a presence at the far end of the dome. The Fury could not turn his head but even so he knew it was the boy even before it came into his line of vision. Hiccup came forward but this time did not touch him, did not do or say anything, only stood there with a pained expression.

He carried metal tools that humans had frequently used to construct new things. They could also be used as weapons. Construct, or destroy.

Minutes passed. The Fury might have felt anxiety once at the silent standoff but he had quickly adjusted to the idea that the humans had notions other than of killing him.

For the first time however the Fury's disquiet arose from a deeper place. What did the boy want—really, truly want? It seemed to be waiting for something.

Hiccup stared directly at him with what the dragon realized was misery. It was in the lines of its brows, the set of its shoulders, and most of all in its eyes.

"Toothless," it said softly. "A part of me would like to keep you here forever until I can make you remember. But I don't think I can prove anything to you by keeping you like this. I'm so sorry bud. This was all my fault."

Suddenly the boy was overcome by emotion and fell quiet. The Fury was amazed to see its eyes were wet; he'd had no idea that such a thing could be triggered by feeling. It breathed hard and stared at the ground, as though it could not bear to see him.

It continued, directing its words at the ground. "Maybe someday you'll remember, and you'll come back. I'll wait." Those green eyes traveled to his tail, now bereft of the false fin. "When you're ready to fly again, buddy, I'll be here."

Finally the boy moved forward. By now the dragon naturally expected to feel the small palm on his nose and he lowered his eyes; when he heard softly clinking noises he raised them suddenly and twisted much as he could to see what was happening.

The heavy restraints were removed with some puffing effort by the boy. It put the metal tools to work in prying bolts and forcing open firm clasps. First his muzzle was removed, then the anchored wooden yoke around his neck, and at last those that secured his body and legs.

When the last of them had fallen away the boy stepped back with some minor trepidation. After all, they had made no agreement. The Fury doubted the other humans in the village were aware of this; Hiccup had acted alone. It waited, too sorrowful to be truly afraid.

The dragon advanced on the boy, which stood its ground although its nervousness was palpable. For good measure he snorted a small blast of fire, and while the human flinched it did not bring up its weapons. Rather, it dropped them, and kicked them away with its metal leg.

"Whatever you do," it said in a low voice, "just please don't punish the village." Its mouth stretched in a strange, curved line. "I am in so much trouble already."

The Fury regarded it, then abruptly turned and scorched the restrains that had bolted him. He made sure to burn each, obscuring the true method by which they'd been opened. After he was finished a heap of molten slag lay smoking on the ground. No one would see and think the Fury had escaped by any other means than his own actions.

Hiccup's eyes widened when it realized what the dragon had done. It laughed—again surprising the Fury; humans could laugh?-very weakly. "At least they won't tear me apart now."

Once more silence descended heavily. Hiccup's fists opened and closed. Now that he was free, the Fury felt he was still tied to the ground by invisible cords of reluctance, fascination and the inescapable sense that he was missing something. That weird sensation in his head was bothersome, as though he'd gone out to sea with the intent of fishing and returned home having forgotten to bring dinner. He could either turn around and take the trouble to resume his hunt, or he could stay the night with an empty belly.

If he were a human, he might have described it as picking up a familiar book and discovering a chapter he did not remember ever reading before.

Suddenly a memory bloomed where it had not before. The night sky, lit by fire, that storm of twin stones whipping to wrap him up—and the long fall down, the thunderous crash through trees and dirt, and the horrific sensation of a part of him ripping away. The fall that had broken him. And the wait in the dark of night for death to come.

Realizing how really close the boy was, the Fury reared back in rage. The boy! With its pathetic stones and rope, it had brought down the most fearsome dragon ever to raid the island coast and crippled it forever. He had known before that Hiccup was responsible for mangling his tail, but the sudden clear memory of it now inflamed his thoughts. This scrawny, weak, maimed little human had ruined him and left him to die in ropes. How things had changed, how he had survived or been set free or whatever else had happened, none of it mattered.

He only hoped that it was he who had mangled the boy's leg. He could not imagine not having made retribution.

Let the other dragons live in their delusion. Eventually the humans would turn on them and things would return to the way they always were. Their gods help them if they thought he was no longer a threat. He would strike the fear again into their hearts with violent wrath.

Hiccup's eyes widened as it realized the change in the Fury's attitude. How he hated those green eyes. He bolted forward and knocked the boy onto its back, a third and last time.

The dragon opened his jaws. The sneaking, deceptive human deserved to die. It had made a joke of him. He was a _Night Fury_, the undisputed ruler of the sky he now could not reach.

This time Hiccup did not resist, knowing any effort to dislodge the great forearm pressed against it was laughably futile. It only breathed hard and stared up, nose to nose with the dragon. The Fury could smell its fear. And regret. And despair. One thing should not feel so _many_ things; it complicated more things still: like the mind of a dragon set to kill.

After a moment, it spoke. Softly. "Buddy, I know. I'm sorry. Your tail is my fault. Your head is my fault. Everything I do...I always think it's the right thing, but then it goes all wrong..." It swallowed hard. "Toothless, you're the first thing I ever got right."

Would it please just stop. No more noises. Just stop just stop. He could make it stop.

His breath grew hot. Hiccup closed its eyes.

When it opened them at the pressure leaving its chest, the Fury was already halfway out of the arena.

* * *

><p>"How long did they think they could keep him?" asked Astrid. "He's a Night Fury."<p>

She knew the lie as she spoke it. During the previous morning when a Viking had come running from the arena yelling that Toothless was gone and nothing remained of his restraints but misshapen lumps of melted iron, she knew without even looking at him. Nobody raised any questions. She went along with it while giving Hiccup hard looks so he would be absolutely certain that she knew, and that she knew that he knew that she knew and she wanted him to know that.

Part of her—well, most of her—was tempted to be sore with Hiccup for doing it, but she truly didn't think that he'd endangered Berk by what he'd done. In fact she was pretty sure Toothless was done with humans altogether.

This Toothless was not the same sweet dragon that had doted on Hiccup. Whatever had shoved away his memories had introduced a dark, angry creature in their stead. Was it this Night Fury that Hiccup had taken pity on in the forest and Would Not Kill—the wild, snarling beast he was now? Because she'd seen none of the fear in his eyes that Hiccup claimed he had witnessed.

She might have done the same thing in setting him free. Or she might not have. However much she had become attached to Toothless, only Hiccup had ever managed to overcome her natural inclination to distrust.

What was Stoick going to say when he came home to this? He'd be back from the conference in another week, depending on the weather and the success of the tribes' arm wrestling. Hiccup was leaning a chin on his hand, looking tired and miserable.

"So are you going to go out after him?" she prompted.

"I don't know."

"Yeah right."

Hiccup stared at the wooden desk. "I can't hammer the memories back into his head."

"So make some new ones. I know what you're afraid of. You think that because your past with Toothless was somehow erased, you can't have a future with him either." Astrid grabbed a chair and swung her legs around the back, then leaned forward with her elbows on the backrest. "And maybe for somebody else, that would be true. But you're you. Stubborn, crazy, indefatigable _you_. How many times did you fall off that dragon only to get back on? You're the stubbornest Viking I know, and that's saying a lot. You don't know when to quit."

Hiccup smiled a little ruefully, but the words looked like they'd done some good. The fact was, Astrid was not speaking out of the misplaced sympathy that others were in their own reassurances. Even if she weren't positive of the outcome, she would never belittle Hiccup's reasoning like that. She was stating the truth, and both knew it. If hope did not drive Hiccup forward, good old-fashioned bullheadedness would do the trick.

What he needed right now was to get his mind off his concerns. The nest was something that could occupy his time. She picked up Hiccup's scattered drawings and tapped them into an orderly stack, handing them to him.

"What about the cove? That might be a good place too," she said.

"I thought about that for older hatchlings," said Hiccup slowly. "It has its own water source so they wouldn't need to rely on us."

Gathering the sketches, he stuffed them more or less neatly into a leather folder. He was rarely as careful with preserving his drawings as he was in making them, Astrid thought. Once an idea evolved beyond its original incarnation on the parchment, Hiccup more or less forgot about the sketch while he refined the idea on yet another paper. He used to burn old work but Astrid put a stop to that. She liked to save some of the pictures.

For someone who worked through a process so carefully, Hiccup's emphasis on the final result overshadowed everything else. Astrid was more interested in the development and what it said about the person who was making it.

The proposals for a nest were a more benign use for his attention than his previous undertakings. She'd seen some of the things he was working on prior to it, even before he'd come across Toothless, and she'd been a little shocked. Bola launchers. Catapults. Crossbows. Hiccup had always been the same sweet, gentle person, but his inventions were undeniably weapons—and dangerous ones at that. Those drawings were an insight she hadn't expected.

"I'll have to take a look at the cove," he said.

They walked out to the main paddock. While anyone could take off on a dragon just about anywhere, Hiccup and Stoick both had insisted on designating a few stations for liftoff. It kept the lines clear. When he'd emerged one day shortly after his convalescence to find everybody on dragons wheeling around willy-nilly and nearly colliding, Hiccup had gone a little green.

Only a short line waited at the paddock as they approached. Each day had brought a little more efficiency to the process. In front of them Snagrod clambered up on his Nightmare, Rowdy, and took flight after a short run. Only Toothless and the Gronckles could effectively launch from a standing position.

Hiccup was looking around, probably searching for Astrid's Nadder. But Gibby, named for a Nadder's gibbering tendencies, had flown a long sweep earlier that day and was now asleep outisde Astrid's home with her head tucked under a colorful wing. Instead Astrid motioned him to the Zippleback that the Thorston twins rode.

Predictably, the twins could not decide who got the Zippleback despite the abundance of other dragons to choose from, so they continued to share it. Ruffnut had christened the right head Guts; Tuffnut called the left Glory. When referring to the Zippleback as a single entity, "Gutsandglory" had become its common moniker despite Tuffnut's efforts to popularize "Gloryguts."

Astrid and Hiccup climbed up a short scaffold to mount on Gutsandglory's back. In the first grand ride to attack the Red Death, the Thorston twins had ridden high up on the necks just behind the heads, but that was impractical in the long run. It would place too great a strain on the necks. Unless they were put into another battle situation where it was better to stay up front, the sensible thing to do was ride on the back.

While Astrid took the lead when it came to weapons, discipline and just about everything else, Hiccup was the undisputed authority when it came to dragons. So he swung into the front of the two-seat saddle, fitting his metal leg awkwardly into a stirrup designed for boots. Astrid took the back. Unlike the seat on Toothless, which could accommodate a second person in a pinch but was really designed for one rider, this saddle was structured so that both seats were clearly defined and had their own pommels.

Personally, Astrid liked Toothless's better. Riding together was a little more fun when you weren't separated from the other by a foot of saddle—although, in the case of Ruffnut and Tuffnut, space was a good thing. They could start a fight even if one was riding up by the head and the other hanging onto the tail.

Gutsandglory were in a fine mood. Hiccup patted the flank with a bittersweet smile, and Astrid's heart sank a little. He was trying so hard to keep it together.

There was a short lurch as the dragon gathered its momentum, then charged ahead full blast and opened its wings. The air was uncommonly still and the Zippleback labored for altitude without the usual support from rising currents. At last it settled at an agreeable height that allowed it to relax its wings a little.

Hiccup's back was difficult to decipher but from the mechanical way he went about directing the dragon Astrid was aware of how much her boy missed Toothless. When those two flew, it was hard not to stare admiringly at the ease with which they communicated, making difficult maneuvers seem no harder than breathing.

The flight was short, not more than ten minutes. The landing was easy but the cove did not allow much room for a gliding stop. Hiccup frowned at that.

Otherwise, the cove was a fine place for raising hatchling dragons. Astrid could almost imagine the happy, playful atmosphere that hatchlings would introduce. Raising dragons, as opposed to training them in adulthood, would be a long learning experience. Vikings had been hardened by fighting dragons for so long but Astrid had personally witnessed some of the biggest, strongest and hairiest of them tearing up at seeing the baby Nadders, first dragons born in Berk.

Hiccup quietly dismounted, and did not say a word as he studied the cove. Maybe bringing him here was not such a good idea. He was here to objectively analyze the conditions of this place, but overwhelming sorrow tended to damage a capacity for reason and this place had so many memories.

The pool water really did occupy the better part of the cove, which would make it difficult for multiple dragons to maneuver and land. Perhaps they'd have to nix it as an option. At one end of the pool, an incline created a shallow bank a foot deep. Hiccup waded a little ways into it, leaning on his foot to take weight away from his metal leg lest it sink into the mud. The water was pleasant and Astrid dipped her fingers into the pool, creating little ripples that went a long way before disappearing.

Here, Hiccup had approached a wounded and angry dragon and somehow made friends with it. Here, he had fixed a leather fin to its tail and inadvertently went for the ride of his life. Here, he had eaten and played and trained with Toothless.

Suddenly Astrid didn't want to introduce anyone else here. This place belonged to Hiccup and Toothless and nobody else. She didn't want nests to leave scattered brush everywhere. She didn't want hatchlings to muddy up the pond banks. She didn't want them to crowd the small cave in which Toothless once sheltered.

The cave—the cave where...

Her breath caught in her throat.

The cave where Toothless _still_ sheltered—


	5. The Mind's Eye, Part III

Minding the Fort

Chapter Five: **The Mind's Eye, Part III**

He'd gotten stuck.

The presence of freshwater had tempted him into the cove, where he'd realized too late that due to some bizarre geological machination the area was sunk in with no exit out. None large enough to fit his girth anyway. Forgetting he lacked a tail fin, the Fury had dropped into the cove to drink and snap at some fish and upon attempting to fly out discovered that the lone fin adjusted his flight so radically that he could not stay aloft for more than a second or two.

_Other_ dragons did not have tail fins. _Other_ dragons did not need them. Gronckles were so stubby they were more like flying thumbs. The Fury felt irritation that the removal of the thing that made him faster and most acrobatic among dragons made him utterly useless without it.

The Fury was there a full day, attempting to scrabble up the steep sides only to fall back unsuccessfully. During his unwilling sojourn he noticed odd signs of a previous occupant, a dragon—and judging by the scales laying scattered around the short cliff, a Night Fury no less. And yet the Fury did not detect the scent of any dragon other than himself.

He sheltered in the cave overnight. Inside there was more evidence of another dragon.

Again his dreams were dogged by strange, unreal images that were somehow familiar. The Fury dreamed of the crash, streaking to the earth like a falling star. Except the stars could never be roped in the way he had been; they were untouchable. As little more than a hatchling he'd been determined to go to the stars and see where they lived and how they stayed aloft. When your wings laid bare the world it seemed impossible that there could be anything unreachable. Each time he'd set out with determination, he flew a little higher until his lungs heaved and his wings churned in dead air—yet the stars always hung far above.

The hatchling grew older and understood the stars were not to be reached. Still he stayed here, in this inhospitable place with its humans and horrific queen, rather than scatter like the remaining Night Furies with strength of mind to evade the enormous beast's pull—because here, the stars seemed so much clearer and closer than they did anywhere else.

The Fury understood now what thing had been missing from the back of his mind. The familiar tug of the queen's demanding appetite was gone. That mute but forceful command had always lingered on the edge of his consciousness, distant enough to be usually suppressed (unless within close range), but ever present and persistent. Its absence was a perplexing relief.

When the Zippleback had landed carrying the two humans, the Fury had been dozing inside the cave but was quickly alerted to their presence. Their scents registered immediately as the two most familiar to him.

He watched them as they dismounted and examined the area. They did not appear to notice that the cove had an occupant. The girl had its hands on its hips and was looking around with a critical eye. And the boy, Hiccup. It waded a few inches into the shallow end of the pool. It took another step and wrenched its metal leg from the muck.

The girl saw him first. Blue eyes widened, and the axe was suddenly in its hand.

"Hiccup," it said.

Hiccup turned and saw the Fury lurking in the cave. "Toothless!"

The Fury rankled, but his aggravation was matched by embarrassment. They would understand that he was stuck there. How humiliating.

For a moment the boy stared. Then it said, "I need a fish."

"What's a fish going to do?" the girl demanded.

"It's a conciliatory gesture," the boy said with a nervous giggle.

The Fury was not in the mood to be conciliatory. This was ridiculous.

He advanced on them with cold intent. The girl held its axe firmly, and he saw a knife at the boy's belt, but it was the other dragon he was careful of. Zipplebacks were unpredictable, having two heads of an independent mind each, and just when you had one figured out the other would do something completely unexpected.

Would the dragon defend the two humans? Now was as good a time as any to find out. As he slunk around the bank he saw the girl inch closer to the Zippleback with slow and deliberate movements.

"Get on the dragon, Hiccup," it said, never taking its eyes off the Fury. "Now."

Surely it knew the boy would never make it there. The Fury was far too fast and the boy was hindered by its metal leg. Hiccup understood this.

"I can't. But you should."

If they hadn't been so focused on the Fury, the girl might have rolled its eyes. "That is not happening."

The Fury chose to concentrate on the boy first, but he kept a careful eye on the girl gripping the weapon. Hiccup backed away as the dragon came much too close. It raised its tiny hands.

"Toothless, don't," it said.

The Fury edged forward.

"Toothless—you're not yourself now," it kept talking.

Another step.

"But maybe you will be someday. And you'll remember what you did. I don't want that for you."

How could this creature stand there and proselytize his compassion? And yet its composure was admirable. Still, the Fury stepped into the water.

So did the Zippleback. Or rather it leaped in, sending a wave crashing over the girl. It yelled instinctively and shielded its head. The Zippleback paddled almost comically towards them, lacking the wing strength to make the short leap over with no runway to build momentum. The two heads stretched out in front with determination.

The Fury felt aggravated. What had happened to unity among dragons? Humans had changed everything, and he had missed it all.

Or—he hadn't. Or he had been there through all of it. It seemed incomprehensible but he had awoken in a human residence with no bonds to restrain him. A human boy had embraced him gladly and with familiarity.

Could he have been involved all along? Even—as an abettor?

Instinctively he attempted to remember, and jerked as a new memory bloomed where it hadn't been before. It was as though he'd gone up a familiar path and seen a tree that he hadn't never noticed, although it'd clearly been growing there for some time. Once again, were he human—a new chapter in an old book.

Flying. The old natural freedom of movement, and a fin on his tail that was not his but moved in such accord with air currents and his own motions that it could have been.

It was so frustrating. The world was such a tumultuous place, it was only fair for any dragon to expect security in his own head, but the Fury found no comfort there—only mysteries and holes. In his severe vexation the Fury blazed a hot bolt of white anger that scalded the water in front and made fierce boils bubble and pop on the surface, but he did not inject the lightning into the blast as he could have. Hiccup flinched from the hot steam and staggered back a little.

The Zippleback misunderstood this as a gesture of attack. The gas-breather hissed, but did not jettison its green smoky venom, and the igniter head sparked convulsively. The blonde girl suddenly began shouting at the dragon from the bank, waving her arms and jumping away from the water.

A spark of lightning struck the water and from there spasmed outwards, ripping the pool surface and crackling. Several fish close by instantly bobbed to the surface, stone dead.

The Fury had just time to be fascinated at the effect—he'd intentionally done the same thing as a hatchling for his own amusement and a quick meal—before it swept over him.

A strong tingle rippled through his body as though it was being rinsed from the inside out with shockingly icy water. It tickled all over, almost hurting but not quite, and he wiggled in that uncomfortable way of someone who is getting tickled unwillingly. It especially centered in his head; he could feel his skull shaking. It was not so much painful as strongly unpleasant, but it was over in a few moments and the tingling subsided.

Toothless shook the webs from his head.

Standing safely on the bank, Astrid was scolding the Zippleback for its carelessness. The head named Glory looked highly embarrassed; the other—Guts, was it?—being the gas breather, was rather smug. After all, he only ever provided kindling. Glory was responsible for throwing the spark and liable for anything that got fried unintentionally. The sight reminded him powerfully of the Thorston twins, with Ruffnut ever superior at Tuffnut's antics.

Chuckling deep in his throat, Toothless looked over his shoulder to see if Hiccup was amused or exasperated. Often it was a mixture of both. He had been standing a few inches deep in the pool, but he was not standing now.

Hiccup lay on his back in the shallows with his face turned to the sky, as he had often done on grass when the weather was particularly fine. Except this time he was not smiling, or moving, or breathing.

If Toothless had looked again at the bank he would have seen the horror on Astrid's face and how she momentarily froze, eyes darting to Toothless at first in fright and then sudden comprehension before ripping her feet from where they'd been fixed to the ground. Dropping her axe, she began bolting around the bank. Toothless hardly noticed her.

He trumpeted in alarm and rushed forward to seize Hiccup's harness, dragging him out of the shallows and onto the dry bank. The Zippleback went berserk, both heads weaving wildly and bellowing. Astrid skidded around the curve and dropped to her knees at Hiccup's side, trying to fight off the hysterical Night Fury. Toothless balked.

"Stop, stop!" she shouted. "Let me see him!"

She shoved at his nose and he nearly bit her hand off for it.

Astrid ignored him. She felt at Hiccup's neck with two fingers, then blanched and began to hit his chest, which was still dry. Toothless roared in her ear. She was striking him! What did she think she was _doing_—he bellowed again with near-deafening force and she gritted her teeth and would not move. Toothless was about to knock her aside when suddenly Hiccup began coughing and color flooded back into his face. Astrid stopped beating at his chest and sat back on her heels, wide-eyed.

Hiccup did not sit up immediately but lay heaving and clutched at his throat. Toothless buried his nose in the boy's shoulder, making soft sounds. Astrid stared at them both in turns, caught between relief and amazement.

Gutsandglory was still panicking, darting forward fearfully and catching itself short of reaching them. Its forked tail thrashed and whacked the ground in distress and it was afraid to get too close.

Poor Hiccup wheezed for several minutes. Eventually breathing came a little more easily. When he finally opened his eyes, he focused on the first thing he saw: Astrid's anxious face right above his.

"Hi," he rasped. "You're pretty. Who are you?"

Astrid laughed in relief before really understanding what he'd said. She stopped and frowned with her hands clutching her knees. "What?"

His words were breathy but intelligible, spoken with pauses. "Do I know you? Why have you got skulls all over your shirt? That's kind of freaky."

The look he directed at Astrid held no recognition. Toothless felt his heart sink.

"Hiccup—" Astrid looked stunned. "It's me. I'm Astrid. Don't you remember what—" Realization dawned and her mouth dropped in mortification. Toothless could only watch in confusion and worry. "Oh no. No, no no."

Jerking forward, she seized Hiccup's shoulders in a tight grip. "Hiccup! Don't you even dare—not you too—"

Hiccup withstood it for about two seconds before he began to grin.

"What the..." Astrid gaped, then her face suddenly contorted in fury and she dealt him such a punch to the ribs that he doubled over, wheezing his laughter. "You _ass_!"

By now Toothless was just lost, but the danger seemed to have passed except for the threat presented by a very angry Viking girl who looked ready to stop Hiccup's breathing all over again. Hiccup rolled onto his side, still chuckling weakly, and after a good heated glare Astrid gave him a hand in sitting up.

"I am never going to forgive you," she hissed, without real venom. Then she hugged him abruptly. "Just so you know, I _would_ have bashed the memories back into your head if I had to steal Thor's hammer to do it."

Evidently unconvinced, Hiccup smiled at her and rubbed at his chest, harumphing to try and hide the extent of his coughing. He became aware of a Night Fury looming over him, and flinched before he could stop himself.

Then he looked up.

Whatever it was that had kindled in the dragon's eyes, whatever thing was there that had not been previously, Hiccup saw it immediately and stared in astonishment before gasping—whether from happiness or difficulty in breathing—and struggling up.

"Toothless!"

The dragon embraced him with wings and arms and tail, wrapping him up in a tight hug. Hiccup laughed and reached up to scratch behind Toothless's head plates. Astrid got up from her knees and after making sure once and for all that the dragon's hug didn't have any sinister intentions went over to calm Gutsandglory.

Hiccup patted his nose. "How'd you get it all back, bud?" he murmured. Toothless could only croon.

Deciding the 'how' was not all that important to his boy. Hiccup was as happy as the dragon had ever seen him. The past few days were a little unclear; with some effort Toothless vaguely remembered getting roped up, and with a neauseated feeling also recalled having pinned Hiccup to the ground—and not playfully. The memory was difficult to grasp, like recalling a nightmare.

Reading his mood, Hiccup scratched him reassuringly. "It's done, buddy. Everything's fine."

Was it? The dragon felt anxious, trying furiously to remember what had led up to this. Recollection was misty and evasive, and unpleasant—like observing a different creature. With some effort a few things from the past few days materialized into solid memory, and Toothless was taken aback.

The doomed ship rocking wildly in the sea, the great wooden mast that gave up the fight against battering winds and came crashing down on him. The tremendous headache afterward that felt like someone had released a herd of Terrible Terrors inside his skull.

Hiccup subsided into coughing. No, everything was not fine. Toothless sniffed at him, trying to detect burns.

Astrid returned, beaming, and joined them. Her approach was missing the wariness Toothless had sensed from her before, and she laid a hand on the dragon's neck without hesitation. The axe lay forgotten on the ground.

"I wonder how," she started, but couldn't finish. She shook her head.

"It doesn't matter," said Hiccup. He looked up at Toothless and smiled. "But let's not do it again, okay?"

Behind them Gutsandglory came sneaking up with heads held low. Hiccup looked around Toothless and saw the dragon's twin agonized faces.

"I think you gave us a 'shock,'" he said with a small grin. "Get it?" He raised his hands as Gutsandglory looked horrified. "Kidding! Kidding! Odin, a guy can't joke about _anything_ around here."

Astrid helped to steady him. "You have such a weird sense of humor."

Toothless could only agree.

Both of them helped Hiccup hobble to a rock where he sagged down and carefully removed his prosthetic with trembling fingers, picking at the leather straps and gingerly handling the metal on which water was still beaded. "Oh man. Good thing it wasn't touching my skin," he said a little more solemnly.

It was a scary thought. The leather insulation that cushioned the metal was fairly scorched. Astrid paled a little, and helped check for burns.

Getting back to Berk was going to be a bit of a trial. Hiccup could not walk very well even after strapping the (now dry) prosthetic leg back on, and Toothless was still stuck without his tail fin. Neither was happy at the prospect of parting so soon after their reunion.

Astrid volunteered to fetch the fin.

"Don't forget the harness," Hiccup reminded her.

"Uh huh."

"And can you grab something for an in-flight snack on the way back?"

"Sit down, Hiccup."

Hiccup remained seated against the rock as she clambered onto Gutsandglory's back. After a last reassurance that Hiccup was okay, the dragon took off laboriously and barely cleared the short cliff wall. A few stones clattered down noisily and further away some thrashing of branches could be heard as the Zippleback gained altitude.

"I think the cove's been nixed," said Hiccup, half to himself.

Toothless curled his tail around Hiccup. The boy patted it comfortingly, and flexed fingers that were still stiff from the shock he'd received. The poor boy was as cooked as an egg in one of those inexplicable Viking campfires.

As if reading the dragon's mind, Hiccup grinned and said, "Medium rare." He flicked the metal leg. "But one drumstick's already spoken for."

Toothless huffed, not feeling quite up to being jocular just yet. This was different than the time that Hiccup had woken up in bed after the fight against the Red Death. This didn't have the same feeling of victory, and he wasn't proud of his part in it. The Night Fury still was having trouble connecting the fragments of time that linked the most recent events together, and Hiccup, being Hiccup, was trying to distract him.

"Maybe a wooden leg wouldn't be so bad," Hiccup mused. "Might be easier to swim in. Like—a sport-peg. Painted to accessorize."

Had he really shoved his boy to the ground? Toothless laid his sleek head down. He did not want to remember; he wanted to pretend that it had never happened. Hiccup was willing to.

"Some racing stripes. How's that sound?"

Toothless did not react. A moment later he felt Hiccup's hand on his head.

"Everything's going to be fine." Pause. "We'll go for a good flight."

The Fury felt a little better.

* * *

><p>Thus (sort of) concludes the arc. This was a difficult chapter to write! I may yet edit a few things but I was sick of tinkering with it for now. One of the several odd Google searches that I did to research this chapter: "Can electric eels get electrocuted?"<p> 


	6. Dragon Pox

Sorry for the wait! Life took a turn for the crazy. Thanks for keeping up :)

* * *

><p>Less than a week remained before Stoick's expected arrival. Hiccup was counting down the days.<p>

He was working at his counter in the forge, idly doodling plans for a harpooner. Toothless dozed in a corner, stretched out contentedly like a great cat. Every so often Hiccup paused in his work to scratch at the dragon's head.

Since Toothless' return to the village Hiccup had been determinedly acting as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened in the previous few days. Either the villagers were more or less willing to take his cue, or they were simply too intimidated by Astrid to object. She was prone to glaring at anybody she felt was acting unduly nosy. Out of the corners of their eyes they looked at Toothless measuringly, but the dragon did nothing to fuel their suspicions.

Hiccup was not sure what they would tell his father. Sooner or later, Stoick would know about it.

Otherwise Berk was in fine form aside from minor crises—Snotlout somehow getting his head stuck in the arena railing, Snagrod getting hold of pewter and erupting in rashes, Grima getting into snits with the neighbors. That sort of manageable chaos.

Gobber was heating the coals, sending out sparks that seemed to tickle the sleeping dragon. Toothless grunted happily in his dreams.

"Y'done good lad, you know," murmured Gobber over his steel.

Chin in hand, Hiccup jerked out of his open-eyed dozing. "Huh?"

"I said, you've done a good job. When you're not _sleeping_ on the job."

"I'm only sleeping on _this_ job," Hiccup pointed out, yawning. "So I'm neglecting smithing, not chiefing."

Gobber snorted. So did the coals, sending up sparks when he gave them a push. "I mean it, though. Your dad will be proud."

Well, Berk was not aflame, that was something. Home-repair Vikings were definitely in demand now that the structures nobody had expected to last long against dragon raids were suddenly homes for the long haul. Everyone was more or less behaving, no bloodfeuds had started lately, although he was beginning to suspect that Grima the Elder was sabotaging her neighbor's turnips, which she insisted were infringing upon her own garden.

A rap sounded at the door, followed by Fishlegs sticking his head in through the opening. His head looked odd without its usual helmet. Tufts of blonde hair stood haylike in every direction. Odd, too, was his expression.

"Do you have a moment?" Without pausing for a response he went on. "There's something going on at one of the paddocks."

That was sufficient to perk both Hiccup and Gobber's interest. Hiccup pushed away his work. "What is it?"

Fishlegs mumbled, "You should probably take a look."

As both smiths rose to follow, Toothless roused and stretched, ready to pad after them. Fishlegs stopped in the doorway, looking back to the dragon. "He should stay here."

Hiccup stared in surprise. "Fishlegs, he's fine. That's all done with."

The boy looked uncomfortable. "That's not what I mean. It's—well, you should see. It might be contagious."

Contagious? Wordlessly, Hiccup and Gobber followed him out the door after Hiccup motioned for Toothless to stay put. Hiccup did not like the look on Fishlegs' face. Whenever the Viking was worried the anxiety manifested itself through prattling statistics, as it was doing now.

"There hasn't been any noticeable changes in diet or habit, no source allergies; the Zipplebacks' venom counts are still strong..." he went on like that for a while.

"Fishlegs, what are you _talking_ about? Are the dragons sick?"

The boy only motioned to the paddock they were coming up on. Immediately there was something different. On any given day, at any given hour, a handful of dragons and their Vikings waited patiently to lift off from one of the designated stations. They were not doing so now. Hiccup noticed several Vikings milling around the paddock, looking concerned.

"We've shut down the station," said Fishlegs.

When Hiccup entered the paddock he saw the source of worry. Three dragons, a Nightmare, a Gronckle and a Zippleback, lay on their sides in the center with heaving flanks. Their pebbled skin shone dully in the sunlight. One of them made a thin, piteous noise he had never heard a dragon make before.

Hiccup hustled toward them and moved around to the Nightmare's head. Her eyes had an unusually glassy sheen to them, and she seemed to have difficulty focusing on his face. They slid away from him to something beyond.

Yes, they were sick.

Hiccup whirled around on Fishlegs and Roppke, another Viking who had come up to join them, and they took a step back. "When did this start happening?" he demanded. "Why didn't you come to me immediately?"

"It just seemed like a cold," offered Roppke.

"_When?_

"Last night. It was only the Nightmare at first," Fishlegs added hastily at the thunderous expression beginning to cloud Hiccup's face, "no big deal. And you weren't feeling well yesterday, we didn't want to bother you about it."

Yesterday Hiccup had spent mostly in bed, as he had the day before, feeling as though the slightest friction would shock the fear of Thor back into him all over again. To everyone in the village he'd claimed that it was only a passing illness. Even so, he was aghast.

"I don't care if I'm spewing fishguts everywhere, if something like this happens you come right to me." He struggled to keep his voice low; he didn't want to spook the dragons, who were already ill.

Fishlegs blanched but Roppke nodded. Hiccup turned back to the dragons, kneeling awkwardly to peer into the Nightmare's face. Its coloring was definitely off. He knew this one, a female called Pretty that was the favorite of some of the fiercer little girls in the village. Instead of blooming orange, it was a paler shade that stole across Pretty's snout, and her eyelids blinked back film that threatened to coat her eyes.

The other dragons were not in such a bad state, but they were not pictures of health. The poor Zippleback's heads were stretched out straight on the ground, receiving sympathetic pets from clustered Vikings. Though Hiccup suspected part of the severity was feigned to milk attention, there was no denying the symptoms of illness.

Something Fishlegs had said earlier nagged at him. "Contagious?" he asked.

The boy nodded. "First Pretty came down with it. Then this morning it was Sugs and the Zippleback."

"Ticktack," said Hiccup, remembering.

"Ticktack. First they started coughing, big hacking ones, and then they started to get really tired. And just lately their breaths have been sounding...rattly. That's when I came to get you."

Together they stared at the three dragons. Fishlegs went on to say that they'd closed off the paddock. A cluster of dragons, ones that had been present when the sickness had come over the first three, were huddled on the other side, watched carefully by Roppke for manifesting symptoms.

Suddenly Tick let out a mighty sneeze that covered Tack with gobs of goo and enveloped his head in a tiny cloud of gas, much to Tack's disgust.

Hiccup tried to think. How did humans treat illness? Fevers, Grima had said once as she tended to one of his, were a body's defense against the sickness. Reptiles did not get fevers. If dragons were like other lizards, they had to closely monitor their body temperatures by sunning and sleeping near fires.

"Right. Um, build a fire," he said, not knowing what else to do. At least it would raise their body temperatures. Did dragons get dragon pox? He'd never heard of one taking ill before.

Roppke set the clustered Vikings to work gathering wood and kindling.

"Hopefully it's just a bad cold," Hiccup said. "Something they can weather out."

"Sure," said Fishlegs. Then he looked around discreetly and lowered his voice. "But all the same...maybe we ought to uh, keep the exposed dragons here..."

It made sense. He nodded. Eventually he felt rather foolish standing there, and told Fishlegs and Roppke to let him know if things changed any. As he was leaving, Bolwer Gorm strode up to keep pace. The Viking was as big as most non-Hiccup Vikings were, and so hairy that Ruffnut had once wondered if his mother had been a troll. Upon hearing that, Stoick had guffawed and said he'd known Gorm's mother and it wasn't out of the question. What he'd been doing at the paddock Hiccup wasn't sure.

"The dragons are sick, eh?" said the big man. Hiccup didn't remember a time when Gorm had addressed him before. The man had always been content to ignore him. Before the truce, Gorm had been a dragonkiller of some renown in Berk, which was saying something as everybody had more or less been renowned dragonkillers.

"Could be nothing," Hiccup said. "We'll just keep a close watch on it."

The big man went on conversationally. "Makes you wonder. A year ago we'd have prayed for an illness to wipe out the dragons. Now a few get a bellyache and everyone gets scared."

Hiccup did not like his casual tone. "Nothing's going to wipe out the dragons. It's just a bug. We'll take care of it."

Gorm gave a massive shrug. Hiccup was beginning to wish he had the length of stride to outpace the Viking, but Gorm spared him by turning away.

"Do you like it?" he suddenly called over his shoulder. Hiccup frowned and turned around.

"Like what?"

"Playing chief. Being the boss."

Hiccup was truly startled by the question. "I don't—no?"

"So you don't like it," prompted Gorm.

"No," said Hiccup. "Um, neither. None of the above."

From the look on Gorm's face it was evident that the big Viking did not believe him. Then he turned away again.

The question was one that Hiccup hadn't even considered. It did not matter whether or not he wanted to be a chief, because he _would_ be a chief and there was no point feeling one way or the other about it. Why would it matter to anybody else?

He remembered something unpleasant. Gorm had had a twin brother, a similarly hirsute man whose name Hiccup had trouble recalling. Bjorn, Bjorg, something close to that. Hiccup had not known him well, driven by some dim recognition of the man's nasty nature to avoid him. But the twins had been inseparable, like Ruffnut and Tuffnut, only they managed to make it through entire days with each other with no bruises, bumps or broken bones. At least, they had been inseparable until the brother died in a dragon raid not a year prior to the truce.

Some Vikings would never adjust. Sometimes Hiccup remembered that it would take another generation for the truce to really solidify.

A little time later Astrid came jogging up to him. "Gibby's at the cove," she informed him. "Toothless too. He didn't like it, but he went."

"Thank you," said Hiccup, relieved.

Astrid frowned at him and glanced around quickly to ensure they were not within hearing range of anyone else. She kept her voice low. "Is it serious?"

_I hope not._ "We'll keep an eye on it."

Hiccup repeated those words several times throughout the day, as concerned Vikings continually came up asking. Secrets were unheard of on Berk; something whispered to a rock could make the rounds in an hour. And like most rumors, they distorted with every telling. Knut came up to Hiccup and said he'd heard the dragons were beginning to glow in the dark. Hiccup wasn't sure where _that_ bit came from.

Despite their best efforts during the next twenty-four hours, the dragons' colds—or flu, or pox, or whatever it could be called—stuck around stubbornly, and every paranoid bone Hiccup possessed—two hundred and six, exactly—was telling him that they were becoming a little sicker. Worse, he began to hear of dragons in other paddocks beginning to fall ill. What he couldn't understand was how the contagion was spreading—they shut down the affected station, yet the sickness had not been trapped.

Later that evening they started to bar Vikings that had been in contact with sick dragons from going anywhere near healthy ones. This proved difficult, so thoroughly had the dragons integrated themselves into village life, but it seemed to help stem the progression. Hiccup fretted about Toothless, away with Gibby in the cove, but Astrid, who steered clear of the ill ones, frequently ran to check up on them.

"What kept them healthy before?" Hiccup wondered aloud in the forge that night. "I've never heard of them getting sick."

He didn't voice his main concern, that it was an illness derived from their prolonged contact with humans. Gobber hammered a blade straight with powerful blows. "Because they didn't _get_ sick," the big smith said. "If they had, we'd a' known about it. They lived in one big cave, remember. If so much as a Terror had gotten ill they all would have."

Interestingly, the Terrors _hadn't_ gotten sick, Hiccup realized. Were they immune? The little beasts traveled in packs and tended to roam further away from Berk than the other dragons. Keeping them away from the paddocks was like herding cats, Terrors instinctively liked to go where they knew they shouldn't. And they got into everything. Their diets were not mostly constricted to fish, as were the other dragons', whose only foray into herbage was the occasional berry.

Terrors ate anything, including Gobber's socks, which Hiccup was beginning to suspect was largely responsible for Gobber's misplaced ideas about trolls and their intentions.

His line of thinking was interrupted when a blade clattered to the floor amid a shower of sparks and Gobber's curses.


	7. Dragon Pox, Part II

"Terrible Terror, where do you go," mumbled Hiccup, watching them tumble around the square. The sickness had spread with a startling quickness among the dragons, but the Terrors remained resilient. Not only that, but they showed no signs of illness at all. Suddenly the flock of tiny dragons took off in a whirlwind of so many wings and whiplike tails and they darted away.

It was an amusing sight but Hiccup did not feel like laughing. Not when Berk, in the best of times held together by prodigious Viking spit and prayers, seemed ready to explode from tension. Vikings did not fret well. Actually they tended to overdo the concern. This resulted in the unusual sight of dragons, only some as sick as they were acting, being unabashedly coddled by their humans. Ticktack's had actually sewn pillows for each head.

The dragons that were exactly as sick as they were acting were a source of serious worry, and not one yet seemed to be recovering. Again, the ugly thought that this was a human disease they'd introduced to the dragons reared its head.

Hiccup got up and cast about for something to do. Crisis, he'd always imagined, was a whirl of chaos and action with no dull moments. Berk ever had one foot sunk firmly in chaos but the action was not forthcoming. It was a lot of _waiting._Waiting to see how the dragons would ride it out.

Perhaps noticing Hiccup's morose attitude, a returning Terror came cartwheeling from the sky to land in front of him, its belly big from an afternoon snack. "Hurp," it said by way of greeting, and Hiccup barely had time to yank his boots away before the contents of said concerned Terror's stomach could spill all over them.

"Ugh," said Hiccup as the three-in-one-course meal was laid out in front of him.

The Terror was pleased. "Ugh" was the most typical reaction of humans when gifted by regurgitated food, and thus clearly signified their pleasure at receiving it; sometimes they were so overwhelmed with gratitude they insisted that the scaly donors consume the gift themselves. Thus the Terrible Terrors were satisfied that their generosity did not actually require them to be generous.

This time it was a fish head, and a little lizard—wasn't that a kind of cannibalism?—and some... odd berries, it looked like. They were still a vibrant orange-red. Hiccup hadn't even known dragons would touch those. "Thanks," he said weakly, "but ah, you have it."

Not needing to be told twice, the Terror scarfed up the meal again as satisfied as if it was the first time around.

Fishlegs came up with Roppke, both with eyes upon the departing Terror.

"Why aren't they getting sick?" asked Roppke, musingly. "Much as they get around you'd think they'd the worst off."

Fishlegs looked nervous, and wrung his hands a little as he sneaked a look around them. "We gotta talk." He drew them further away from the open view of the village.

"Find something out?" asked Hiccup, thinking over Roppke's question. "Because I've got to tell you, without the other dragons to keep them in line, those Terrors live up to their name."

"I've been thinking," said Fishlegs, "and I don't like to think it, but the thought's got to be thunk eventually, and—"

"And," said Hiccup impatiently.

"I _think_... this might not all be an accident."

Not an accident? Hiccup couldn't remember ever catching pox purposely. _Conveniently_ maybe, the day, years before, he was supposed to go dragon baiting with his uncle Spitelout. But the look on the Vikings' faces did not suggest a joke, and Fishlegs never made one intentionally.

"What kind of not all an accident?"

"Someone's been making the dragons sick," Roppke said.

Suddenly Hiccup began to feel ill himself.

His silence prompted Fishlegs to go on. "Roppke saw Bolwer Gorm sneaking away from one of the paddocks. I looked around and saw some of these." The boy held out a hand, and laying in his palm were berries of a smaller, darker character than the ones the Terror had just offered Hiccup secondhand. These berries Hiccup recognized instantly as the toxic Hel's Yew. Every Viking growing up was taught not to pick the poisonous bushes that fringed part of the island, lest they die in as unmanly a fashion as a citizen of Berk could fear.

"Oh, man," he said, picking up one of the berries from Fishlegs' outstretched hand. Roppke's face was grim.

They were still learning about dragons and what their systems could tolerate, and it was possible that what meant quick death to any human might yet not be enough to kill a beast so large as they were. He hoped. "Get them a lot of water," he said with a lot more confidence than he felt. "Fresh water, not the filtered stuff from the ocean."

Fishlegs hurried off, yelling as loud as his voice could carry. Roppke studied Hiccup, whose mind was in a whir. "Will that be enough?"

"It's worth a shot," mumbled Hiccup. Whenever a Viking caught sick, Grima always flushed them out with as much water as she could without drowning them, to the point where everyone avoided her until they were just about on their deathbeds and she could corner them easily. Maybe it could drown the poisons. "I need to get to Bolwer."

Berk had surprised him so thoroughly with its willingness to embrace the dragons that he'd given in to the illusion the village's enthusiasm was of one mind. He should have known better. He should have anticipated this. Not everyone could have turned over so quickly, but even so Hiccup never would have thought they'd dare to break the truce Stoick proclaimed.

Except Stoick wasn't here. Hiccup was. This had been carefully timed.

Anger and humiliation flooded his system and stained his cheeks red, and he didn't catch what Roppke said. "What was that?"

"They've already gone to get him."

Startled, Hiccup spun to face him. "'_They '? _Who's _'they'_? I don't remember sending any 'they.'"

Roppke blinked. "I sent them. I thought—"

"Did you?" snapped Hiccup, his frustrations spilling over. "Do you _ever_ come get me first? Next time you whip up a mob, maybe give me a heads up so I can scalp tickets, since you obviously don't think you need my permission. If Bolwer's hurt before—"

Any further berating of a totally surprised Roppke was interrupted by the aforementioned 'they' storming quickly up the hill with a struggling, bellowing Bolwer Gorm in white-knuckled tow. Hiccup was relieved he wasn't visibly injured, but his chances of remaining so dwindled the more Vikings caught the gist of the uproar and storms broke over their faces as they joined the crowd.

Astrid came running up, skirting the group cautiously. Ruffnut and Tuffnut followed close behind. Tuffnut was shouting vague obscenities mainly for the fun of it, as he derived great joy from mobs of any reason, but the girls were thankfully restrained. Astrid sidled up to Hiccup, who told her and the twins (once he got Tuffnut to stop hollering) to help Fishlegs in obtaining more water. At least somebody could get something useful done. Although clearly wary of leaving Hiccup, Astrid ran off after collaring Tuffnut and dragging him behind her.

Bolwer Gorm was thrust to the ground before Hiccup with a spear's tip at his neck to discourage any thought of rising. Gorm stared up with sunken eyes and Hiccup was confronted with the rare and uncomfortable perspective of looking down on him.

This was all happening too fast, before Hiccup had the chance to digest what was happening. He and Bolwer stared at each other.

_What am I going to do with you?_ He raised his hands and shouted. "Calm down! Everybody!"

Surprisingly, yelling for calm didn't work well. It took a full minute to quell the crowd, growing every second, to a level where Hiccup could hear himself think. "Now all of you just shut up for a moment," Hiccup said in his best Stoick impersonation. Eventually the group subsided, glowering at the man on his knees. Even lowered so, Bolwer was as intimidating a creature as Hiccup knew.

Gorm's fury radiated from his eyes, his face, his clenched hands.

Whenever Stoick encountered a problem he couldn't swing a sword at, he skillfully dissected its components until he isolated the problem. It was a form of distancing, of removing oneself emotionally from the situation in order to solve it practically. This habit had served both the Haddock men well, for when Hiccup needed to solve a mechanical problem and Stoick needed to solve Berk. Of course, a mob had never deposited an offender at Stoick's feet—the chief preferred to go after them himself—and mobs tended to override practicality.

"Okay, um, everybody... go away." The crowd stared uncomprehendingly. Hiccup flapped his hands at the wrists. "Shoo."

Disbelief silenced them more effectively than anything else. Gobber pushed through the throng and slapped his hand to his leg. "You heard 'im! Go help Fishlegs and the others! You're doin' no good here!"

After much poking from Gobber and ambiguous words of encouragement from Hiccup, the mob disintegrated into individual Vikings stalking away and reluctantly muttering. The interim chief blew out his breath and gave Gobber a grateful smile. A minute or two later, only Hiccup, Bolwer, Gobber, and Roppke remained.

Now that Bolwer's every word wasn't threatened by the point of a spear, he was spitting his words like venom. "Fine chiefing, boy," he snarled. "Turning the village into a hell-horde."

"Shut up," said Roppke angrily.

"No, he's right," said Hiccup just as sharply. "It shouldn't have happened."

"Are you gonna tell me what I almost got gutted over, or should I just figure it's for a good reason?"

Hiccup almost admired his defiance. "Someone saw you sneaking out of a paddock, and these were found afterwards." He showed Bolwer the berries.

"So? They aren't mine." The great Viking spat.

Roppke said derisively, "So it was just a coincidence?"

Bolwer glared at them. "Guess it was. I didn't have nothin' to do with it. Not the berry picking type."

"Why were you at the paddock?" Hiccup asked, crossing his arms. "You've never shown any interest in riding dragons before."

Giving an enormous shrug, Gorm said, "I only wanted to see how sick they were."

By their snorts Roppke and Gobber made obvious how much they believed that. Hiccup wasn't so sure. What he was sure of was that this wasn't the time to deal with this. The dragons came first; he had to see to them.

Bolwer Gorm sensed his hesitation in the way that he had often sensed it in the prey he was now forbidden to hunt. "So how are you going to deal with me, Haddock?"

"I won't," said Hiccup distractedly, already thinking of other things. "You'll be kept to your house until Dad gets back. He'll decide what to do with you."

For the first time real consternation crossed the big Viking's rough-hewn features. Perhaps the skinny temporary chief did not strike fear into his heart, but Stoick was another, bigger, hairier, and meaner matter. "Too much for you to handle, boy?"

Hiccup frowned at him. "You're not going to bait me."

Roppke poked at the kneeling man harshly with a spear handle. "I'll escort this one back and watch him."

"No," Hiccup said, feeling achy. His hip was beginning to hurt and his skin had the itching sensation it occasionally got since he'd been fried in the lake. "Gobber will do it." Roppke was still too angry.

The Viking made no protest but glared at Bolwer as he was led away with Gobber's hook crooked under his shoulder. Then the two of them went back to the paddocks, Hiccup thinking hard.

* * *

><p>Water helped some, but in the same way that poison had to work harder to spread through the system of a dragon, it was equally difficult to flush out. They worked together for a time, Hiccup doing what he could but mainly trying to keep the scared dragons from getting too excitable. Vikings, too. Both seemed to respond to his reassurances, and he felt guilty for deriving less comfort from the words he said than they did.<p>

As the hours flew by he tried not to think of what his father would do, mainly because he couldn't imagine what Stoick would be doing differently and partly because Hiccup was Hiccup and not his father and there wasn't any point trying to do anything other than what his own reasoning told him was best. Doubtless the Vikings wished the chief was there, but in the meantime they were cooperating well.

He found his way to Astrid and filled her in. Predictably, she was furious.

"Berries," she said while hefting a pail. "I didn't even know dragons would eat them."

"Not normally." Only if it was offered to them by someone they trusted, a thought that made Hiccup, who was beginning to understand something, miserable. "The Terrors do, though."

"So why aren't they sick? They get into _everything_. They've probably eaten the same berries."

Given the little dragons' propensity for eating anything at least once to test its edibility, including but not limited to leather, ink, and Gobber's left everythings, Hiccup figured that 'probably' was probably 'definitely, duh.' "They've eaten different ones, too," he pointed out. "I didn't recognize the kind. Maybe...maybe that's got something to do with it."

Setting her pails down, Astrid wiped her forehead. "Maybe. If they're the only ones eating them and they're the only ones not sick. Some kinds of berries are supposed to be good for you."

Hiccup was sure this was true but the people of Berk were not a berry-loving folk as they preferred food best harvested by battle-axes, so his knowledge of edible plants was mainly constrained to trial and error.

"What are you going to do with Bolwer Gorm?"

"He's under house arrest," said Hiccup.

"Did he do it?"

Hiccup began to say something but closed his mouth as more as other Vikings came within hearing range of them. They wanted to know what everyone else did: was Hiccup really going to wait for his father? Even after _two _witnesses fingered Gorm for the crime? Hiccup corrected them; only one witness had, in fact, seen anything at all. What Fishlegs discovered was after the fact.

Retribution on Berk had never been anything but swift and decisive, and this idea of waiting was something new to them. Hiccup called this being methodical; Bolwer, when Hiccup went to check on him that night, called it being a wuss.

"You're not helping yourself," said Hiccup. "Why are you being so combative?"

Bolwer stared at him balefully, heavy chains on his ankles doing little to diminish his intimidating presence. Gobber watched him carefully from his place near a firepit. They sat there a long moment, Bolwer leaning heavily on the bed to which he was chained and Hiccup sitting on the chair, which creaked during the awkward silences.

Eventually, when Hiccup was beginning to think he should go, Gorm spoke. "Some days I wake up and the first thing I wonder is whether today will be the day I join my brother." He gave his chains a thoughtful rattle. "Then I remember, no, there's a truce now. And when I remember that, I'm disappointed."

"Why?"

"You don't understand, boy. You're too young. There's no decades of war you have to put behind you."

"Everyone else has," Hiccup pointed out. "Gobber's put a hand and a foot behind him."

As though to illustrate the point, Gobber began polishing his hook lovingly. Hiccup thought it rather by the grace of the gods, for the sake of everyone else in the world, that Vikings were not born with such things naturally.

"What I'm saying is, we've all lost something," he finished.

"Yeah." Bolwer gave a giant shrug. "But you can't just strip the fight from us, boy. We're Vikings. We _need_ the battle."

Struck by this, Hiccup was momentarily quiet. He hadn't considered this effect. Berk had long before given up warring against any other tribes for the main reason that dragons gave them all the fight they wanted; and Gorm was right, Vikings _wanted_ a fight. How long could they stay docile?

Hiccup stood and regarded the man before him. "Bolwer Gorm, did you poison the dragons?"

Gorm snorted. "If I'd wanted to kill dragons, boy, they'd be dead."

* * *

><p>Hello again! Note: this was last updated before I think 'Gift of the Night Fury' was released, so some of the dragons' names are off.<p>

Reviews are encouraged and encouraging :)


	8. Dragon Pox, Part III

"Hiccup, wake up."

He felt a pressure at his shoulder, and began slowly to wade through sleepy murk to the sound and touch. "Mmpph wha?" he asked intelligently. He'd been dreaming. At first the dream had begun like so many others, but a vague tension began to creep in as he and Toothless descended from the clouds, gliding lower and lower until they sank impossibly through the ground and well below, until the underworld seemed vast as the sky.

When you spent the majority of your time in open air, the idea of being underground was unsettling.

Astrid's pretty face loomed over him where he had been sprawled on his bed, after she'd strongarmed him into getting a few hours' sleep. "Wha's going on?" he slurred.

"They're getting worse."

This yanked him out of drowsiness. "Have any—died?" he was afraid to say it.

"Not yet." Her tone was not comforting however, and she placed an emphasis on 'yet' Hiccup did not like. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, fumbling around for his prosthetic leg. Astrid handed it to him.

By the gloom it seemed that dawn was yet a ways off, and stars winked on the pair as they left his home and he closed the heavy door behind them, relieved that Toothless was not around and feeling guilty for feeling relieved.

"No more dragons have gotten sick," Astrid said before he could ask. They had set sizable guards around the paddocks by this time, although Hiccup was pretty sure the poisoner had already done as much as he dared. "But the ones that are sick are not doing well."

So much for flushing them out with water. At best, it was only slowing down the Hel's Yew effects. Hiccup glanced at a dark house over a small rise, where by the small lamp shining through a window he knew that Gobber was keeping an extra vigilant watch on Bolwer Gorm.

The scene at the paddocks was a little heartbreaking. Heedless of the hour, scores of Vikings were milling around fretfully. Ticktack was piteous with both heads stretched out on two separate pillows, its human comforting them as best he could.

Hiccup dreaded every face that looked to him for answers he could not give, and he felt helpless as he surveyed the efforts. Up to this point he had forced himself to feel optimistic and look twice as optimistic as he felt, but when he looked around it seemed hopeless to keep up the act while things were falling apart. Now he focused on looking calm, while his mind raced.

"This is so bad," he murmured.

Astrid agreed.

Hiccup looked at the horizon where he knew the sun would be breaking upon them in short time. "Plan G," he muttered.

She looked to him. "The Terrors?"

"I can't think of anything else."

The two conferred for a few minutes in low voices. Then Astrid bounded back through the mists. Hiccup began to turn when Fishlegs and Roppke caught up to him. The big Viking boy looked about to speak, but no words made their way out and he subsided into anxious silence.

Hiccup said softly, "I'm going to try something. Will you keep an eye on everyone? We should be back in a few hours."

Fishlegs nodded, blue eyes wide. Suddenly Hiccup smiled encouragingly at him, thankful for the immense help the boy had proven to be. "You've done really well," he said. "No, really," he added at Fishlegs' blush.

The boy mumbled something embarrassedly and moved back toward the paddocks, ears red.

Roppke was not watching Fishlegs. "What are you going to do?" he asked intently.

Part of the time Hiccup had promised Astrid he'd spend sleeping was actually spent awake in furious pondering until one suspicion had fallen away and a new one rose in its place.

"The Terrors aren't immune. They're not. So they've got to be doing something that cancels out the Yew."

"Like what?"

"No clue," Hiccup said lightly. "But they're our only lead."

"You're going to follow them?" asked Roppke. "How?"

"On Toothless, and Astrid's Nadder." Hiccup raised his eyebrow. "They're fine, by the way."

Roppke looked abashed. "Sorry. I assumed they were."

Hiccup smiled at him, though his heart wasn't in it. "We might need your help. If there's anything we have to bring back I don't think even all this much Viking—" he gestured to all of himself— "can muscle it all back."

The other Viking snorted, but Hiccup could sense his concern when he looked back to the dragons.

* * *

><p>A short time later the three of them wrangled a thick tarp into place on Gibby's saddle. The Nadder's eagerness was a weird contrast to the ill lethargy of the other dragons. Toothless was also strung out but that was partly because of the anxiety he could not help but feel radiating from Hiccup, and it caused the dragon to be short with Roppke. The big Viking jerked his hand back at a now-uncharacteristic growl from the Night Fury.<p>

"Toothless," Hiccup said warningly, and the dragon subsided, although he did not take his lamplight eyes off Roppke for several minutes.

Astrid missed none of this but worked as though she did not notice. "Gear's set," she announced with a final tug of a strap. Then she stared at the enormous pack, bulging with food, that Hiccup was wrestling to Gibby's other side. "What do we need that for?"

"Well," huffed Hiccup, "when I snack, I snack."

Roppke gave a small grin and said, "Nobody'd know it to look at you." Toothless flattened his head plates in irritation.

"All we need is a Terror." Astrid gazed around, and whistled. Almost immediately a little dragon came zooming up to them, making its odd little chortling sound and demanding a scratch before they could coax him to cooperate and gather some others.

Soon a small gaggle of Terrible Terrors was cavorting around them, jabbering at each other, vexing Toothless and nipping Gibby on the tail. Hiccup could not help but smile at how inexhaustably exhausting they were, and he ushered everyone into the air before the Terrors could overstay their invitation. As a group they rose, Astrid and Roppke riding on Gibby, and Hiccup on Toothless. The Nadder had to take a running leap to gain enough momentum for flight, and Hiccup could see Roppke's face turn white as they hopped off a cliff and plummeted a bit before Gibby's wings caught the wind.

Toothless primly launched from a standstill, which he liked to do when he showed off. The Terrors careened past them, tumbling around in a makeshift game of cannonball. At least they harrassed each other quite as much as they did everyone else.

It was a minute or two before the dragons understood that the Vikings meant to follow them. The flock sprinted off happily, darting to and fro in the air currents like schools of fish. Every so often they doubled back to make sure that everyone was having as good a time as they were.

Up here Hiccup felt his worry drain a little. No matter how often he'd gone flying with Toothless, the elation never faded. Sometimes he rather thought that Vikings were adapting quite as much to the air as dragons were to Berk, because the sky felt as much like home as did his little cottage in the village; he was beginning to know the islands, the rocks, the thickets of forest like he did the cracks in his floor.

It was also dangerous, because that feeling of abandonment could create recklessness, causing you to forget the threats you could not really leave behind.

Nearly an hour went by before Astrid twisted to face Hiccup and shouted over the rushing air, "Are we going in circles?"

It did seem like the Terrors were not exactly grasping the point of this excursion. Dawn had by now stolen through most of the sky, and time was not on their side. "Hopefully they'll get hungry soon," muttered Hiccup.

One thing you could count on was a Terror's appetite. Fifteen minutes later the flight had begun to take a more certain direction, and fiften minutes after that Hiccup had the sinking feeling he knew where they were going. Mists swathed the surface of the ocean, chilled their bones and obscured their vision. Uncertain of the dragons' sensory abilities now that the Red Death's magnetic presence no longer drew them to the old volcanic lair, Hiccup made sure they stuck close together. It was easy to get lost in the fogs.

"Why in Odin's name are we going back?" Astrid's voice had an eerie cast, buffered by the fog. Her tone was brave but Hiccup thought she must be wondering what he was—there couldn't possibly be a second Red Death, could there? The Terrors, however, showed none of the brainwashed rigidity of flight that suggested another beast was calling to them. Neither did Gibby or Toothless.

A low rumble began in the Night Fury's throat, and Hiccup patted his head. "Easy, buddy," he said, although he was spooked too.

He was relieved when they began to rise. They cleared the mists and the volcano loomed up before them, with the same gaping hole in its side that the Red Death had emerged from.

And then—the Red Death itself. Even now, the sight of it just—it was _so _big. When he saw the enormous rib bones rising up like bleached masts, Hiccup's heart jumped up in his throat and it suddenly felt impossible that he had ever been brave enough to confront the great beast. He was almost more afraid of it now, upon reflection, than when he hadn't had the time to think.

Following the Terrors, they soared around to the other side of the island, which had largely escaped damage. It held a surprising amount of vegetation, mostly scraggly bushes and grass. Volcanic ash had made the soil fertile, both around the base of the mountain and on the tiny archipelago. Excited by the prospect of a meal, the Terrors started diving into the water and snapping up fish. Several landed on the little islands, some no larger than ten or fifteen paces across, and flung themselves headlong into the bushes.

Gibby landed as gracefully as her load would allow. Toothless, as ever, swooped down without a hitch.

Astrid and Roppke hopped off and surveyed the scene. Hiccup waited a second, then dismounted. His metal leg sank an inch into the soft soil. Astrid went over to one of the bushes that was not being busily scavenged and plucked something.

"Here," she said, holding it up. Hiccup made his way over carefully and saw that she held a cluster of bright berries, the same that the Terror had offered him before. "I think—hey!"

A Terrible Terror had snatched the berries from her hand, plummeting through the air and gleefully landing in a heap with its prize. "Those things are more Terrible than Terror," Astrid grumbled.

Hiccup blew out his breath. "Okay, I think we've found it." He unwrapped the tarp they brought and spread it on the surface as levelly as he could. "Let's spread out and gather as much as we can."

They set to work immediately, plucking armfuls and dumping them onto the canvas, while shooing away the Terrors from scarfing them up. Astrid leaped nimbly from rock to rock. Hiccup moved around less nimbly. Roppke returned bearing enormous quantities.

"Do you really think this will work?" he asked, wiping his berry-stained hands. "Why berries?"

"It was the only difference in their diets," called Astrid, moving further away. She was beginning to fade into the gray.

Hiccup slung down the giant pack he'd brought along. "The uncommon denominator. So no, I am not one hundred percent sure this will work, but I am one hundred percent sure I don't have a better idea."

Roppke fairly uprooted a bush and yanked the berries from it. "It seems like such an easy solution."

"The berries are," said Hiccup.

Sensing what he meant, Roppke raised his eyebrows and studied the boy. "I thought you'd decided to leave Gorm for your father to handle."

By now Astrid had disappeared from sight with the intent of gathering the furthest berries and working her way back. Hiccup listened for her, but didn't hear anything. "Why don't you guys sniff around," he said to the two milling dragons. "We'll need to find as many berry patches as we can."

Toothless and Gibby bounded off, plainly relieved to get away from the Terrors.

Hiccup watched them vanish before addressing Roppke again. "Ah, well, I guess I'll have to. I don't think Dad really expected me to put down any insurgents, you know? Like, at most he probably just hoped I'd keep Grima from hexing the neighbors."

"Did you?" Roppke's eyes crinkled in amusement.

"Nobody's grown an extra head yet."

"A human Zippleback."

Hiccup smiled, but it faded quickly. "The truth is, I'm still trying to understand why this happened."

Roppke spilled some more berries onto the tarp. "You had to figure not every Viking would change their mind, just that easily."

"No, I thought it'd take something really, really difficult to change their minds, like picking a fight with a big honking dragon," said Hiccup peevishly.

The other Viking raised his hands. "Sorry. But you know what I mean. Berk lost a lot in the war. Bolwer Gorm lost his twin brother. It's a lot to get over."

"Everyone else got over it," said Hiccup, tossing a handful of berries onto the steadily growing pile. "I know it sounds harsh, but Gorm's not the only Viking who lost someone to dragons. A lot of us did."

"You didn't," said Roppke.

True enough. Hiccup's losses were not insignificant, but dragons were not to blame for his mother, and only one dragon was to blame for his leg. "No. I was lucky. So were you, you didn't have to sacrifice anything either."

Roppke grunted, and Hiccup stopped working to watch him ripping berries none too gently from their stems. "But maybe that makes it harder to get why so many Vikings who lost so much could want peace."

Silence.

"Somone who never gave up anything might not understand."

The big Viking was still, and then said quietly: "I wouldn't say I didn't lose anything."

Hiccup was very aware of how very alone they were just then. It didn't matter.

His next words were hard and full of meaning. "Roppke, what you lost meant _nothing_."

Roppke gave up any pretense at work and squared his shoulders to the boy across from him. Hiccup said angrily, "What did the war cost you? Fame? Your reputation?"

It was a long pause before he spoke. "My pride," said Roppke. "As a warrior."

"Odin," Hiccup said hoarsely. "Your _pride_."

For a minute everything was so quiet. Even the Terrible Terrors sounded far away. Roppke's eyes were hard and black as flint.

"What are you accusing me of, boy?"

"You poisoned the dragons," said Hiccup. "Not Bolwer Gorm. You."

"Where's your proof?"

"Where was yours?" Hiccup snapped. "When you sicced that mob on Bolwer? When you volunteered to escort him home, alone? Would he have made it there, or would there have been an _accident?_"

Disbelief soaked every word, because even though he knew it, he could not believe it. "Fishlegs never saw Bolwer. He only found the berries, and you knew the game was up. You had to find someone to blame."

Roppke was speechless, but Hiccup knew he would regain his words soon, and with a vengeance.

He remembered the easygoing humor Roppke could display at times, a fearful temper he showed at others. He'd been relentlessly devoted to Chief Stoick and Hiccup did not want to begin thinking of his father's reaction upon coming back to Berk and discovering the man who'd followed him heedlessly into every fight, whom he'd left behind as a measure of protection for Berk, had defied the truce Stoick himself had declared.

By now Roppke's fists had clenched. No sign of Astrid or Toothless, although Hiccup still hoped to handle this without them, or the knife strapped to his belt.

"So what now, Chief? Are you going to place me under _house arrest_?" The derisiveness had a faintly hysterical edge to it.

"No, Roppke." Hiccup tried and failed to not sound devastated. "You don't have a home here anymore."

The expression on the man's face was noncomprehending, but Hiccup's words had the ring of a threat and he reacted by stepping forward, less an advance of malice than if he thought a step would bring him closer to understanding. "Just what do you mean?"

Hiccup gestured at the enormous pack of food he'd insisted on lugging along, which he had packed the night previously after he'd talked to Gorm and come to some conclusions.

"I'm going to give you a head start."

Two beats.

"You're going to need it."

Realization dawned on Roppke's face, as clear and bracing as the sun's first light. "You're banishing me. You are actually banishing me?"

Hiccup smiled humorlessly. "What I'm doing is giving you a chance to run away."

When the Viking made no move to take the pack, Hiccup rubbed his temple. "You're only getting this chance because no dragons have died. Yet. If just one had, we'd be having this conversation in front of Toothless." And the rest of Berk.

After gaping, Roppke laughed in incredulity. "I don't believe this. You are choosing dragons over one of your own. A Viking!" He pounded his chest. "I am one of your people!"

_You were_, Hiccup thought.

"Roppke, you poisoned the dragons, you fingered Bolwer for a crime you committed, and you betrayed my father and all of Berk. This is so much better than you deserve."

In a flash Roppke's eyes became wild and he took another step forward, this one with unmistakable malevolence. Hiccup fought the overwhelming urge to take one step back. This was the crucial point; the others could return any moment, and if they did, either it would be too late for them to help Hiccup or it would be too late for him to protect Roppke.

Roppke did not look in need of protection as he came closer, propelled by fury. Words came tumbling out, distorted and ugly fragments of sentences he could not finish. This sensation of real, dangerous conflict with another Viking was completely new to Hiccup. For some reason this felt so much deadlier. The dragons had acted out of pure self-preservation, but when one human moved in to exterminate another there was something far baser about it than animal instinct.

Hiccup's hand brushed the hilt of his knife, but he was under no illusions: if Roppke wanted a fight, he'd win it.

"Think," Hiccup said, trying to sound firm and sure. "This is like the worst move you could make. You've got maybe seconds now until someone comes back. How much time will you get then? Before Toothless finds you?"

He swallowed mild panic as Roppke did not stop coming. Backing up would back him right off the little island.

"If you leave now, you stand a chance." Hiccup tried to keep his voice steady.

Roppke still came.

"You could find another—"

Roppke lunged.

Hiccup yelled as the big Viking barrelled toward him, and barely managed to dodge the bulk that blurred past him and toppled headfirst into water. It was not deep, perhaps chest high, but it was sufficient to stall Roppke long enough for Hiccup to pry the knife from his belt. Roppke spluttered and coughed, struggling to right himself and maneuvering back to the surface to gasp in air. His eyes found Hiccup, knife held at the ready.

Now Roppke was in a predicament, and time was running short. Hiccup breathed hard.

"Now, you listen," he said, sick to death. "You listen here. You're going to take this pack and you are going to run for your life. If you ever come back, the gods help you because I will _not_."

Roppke was in a mood to listen. Hiccup didn't let him get out of the water but tossed the pack to him, not caring now whether some food got wet. The Viking paddled away towards the main island, all the while keeping one eye on Hiccup as though he feared the boy would injure him while his back was turned. He needn't have worried; Hiccup was not that way and even if he were he did not trust his own ability to throw a knife that accurately.

The man had just reached the beach and darted for cover when Astrid came leaping over the rocks, parting the mists like a curtain. On her back was a huge bag stuffed with berries, which she upended over the pile.

"How much do you think we'll need?" she asked.

"We'll probably have to make a few trips," Hiccup said tonelessly.

Together they amassed a sizable amount, and their dragons zoomed into view bearing berry-laden bushes they'd uprooted. Gifted with opposable thumbs, Hiccup and Astrid quickly picked the bushes bare while the remaining Terrors hurtled into their midst. Most had filled their bellies by now and were off on whatever Terrors typically got up to.

"Where's Roppke?" Astrid asked, wiping her hands on the canvas and dunking them into the ocean to get rid of the stickiness. "I'd say we're just about ready to go."

Hiccup paused, then said, "Roppke's not coming back with us."

She turned questioning blue eyes on him.

"And when we get back, Bolwer will be released from house arrest." He hoped she'd put two and two together, and she did.

"No," she breathed. "Not Roppke. He couldn't have."

Hiccup sighed and didn't answer. What would his dad say?

They cinched the top of the tarp shut and looped a rope around the mouth, fastening one end on Toothless's back and the other on Gibby's. Launching took a laborious few minutes but they managed to lift up, both dragons' wings beating the clammy air hard for altitude. Thus they left with one less the number with which they'd arrived. In addition to the large load carried in the tarp, both Hiccup and Astrid carried berries in sacks bundled on their backs and the dragons' sides.

Some Terrors joined them for the journey back, cartwheeling through the air beside the dragons as though in preemptive celebration. In annoyance, Toothless gave an especially hard flap of his wings and sent a few tumbling.

Upon arriving, the Vikings greeted them hurriedly and Astrid just barely was able to maintain some kind of control over the distribution of the berries. Snagrod ran full-out with his toward the paddock where his dragon waited.

Hiccup stared at the house over the hill. Sensing that he was looking to get away, Astrid whispered, "I'll tell them. Go get him."

So while everyone was busy parceling out the berries, Hiccup went up to the place where Bolwer Gorm was chained. Bolwer glowered and Gobber looked up expectantly at his approach. "Well?"

"We'll see," said Hiccup. "In the meantime..." He took the key from the side table and unlocked the chain that manacled Bolwer to his bed, explaining everything quickly before Gobber had a chance to protest. "Sorry about that," he finished with nothing better than a lame apology to offer.

Bolwer theatrically rubbed his ankle where it had been chained and Gobber cuffed him on the head. "Don' be dramatic."

"I think there might be an infection," whined Bolwer.

"There is not."

"Are you going to punish Roppke?"

"He's not coming back," said Hiccup.

This was sufficient to impress Bolwer into silence, and he considered the boy for a brief time before venturing outside without further complaint. Gobber shut the door behind him. "He thinks you killed 'im."

"With my bare hands." Hiccup tried to make muscles for emphasis.

Gobber snorted and took a second to gather up his things. "You've had an exciting time o' it. Didn't think things would get much more interestin' than officiating a wedding at spearpoint."

"That was plenty interesting," grumbled Hiccup. Gobber gave him a good-natured slap on the back that sent him three feet forward.

They walked outside with Gobber shaking his head. "Roppke," he said. "I thought it kind o' strange when he never took his Nadder heads down."

Hiccup had not known about that, and went a little green.

Stoick was going to be appalled by the calamities that seemed to beset Berk when he went a' sailing.

* * *

><p>big thanks to everyone who's reviewed!<p> 


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